


Forsaken

by specimen



Series: FORSAKEN [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Brainwashing, Dragon Ball Xenoverse, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Sexual Slavery, Slow Burn, Triggers, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 54
Words: 226,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specimen/pseuds/specimen
Summary: What should have been a regular training session inside the hyperbolic time chamber has gone horribly wrong. Instead of being gone for only 1 day earth-time, both Goku and Vegeta have been gone for 24 years. In the first day of their absence, Frieza somehow reappeared, bringing chaos and destruction in his wake. He’s conquered earth, and reshaped it to suit his own needs. By the time the two saiyans reemerge, the world has completely changed - allies become enemies, and loyalties will be tested. And for once, this one can't be solved with a few punches.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I do not intend to make many author notes, so allow me to fit as much as I can in this one.
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing anything Dragon Ball related. I grew up watching the series and only recently got back into it, so...I'm doing my best here. On that note, I welcome any and all feedback, especially with regards to characterization. While this is an AU, I feel strongly about trying to preserve characters as much as I possibly can given the setting. Any assistance for future chapters is welcome if anyone has the time and would like to help. Please see my tumblr (linked in profile) if you're interested.

It had been twenty four years since it all ended. Twenty four years since Goku and Vegeta had stepped into the hyperbolic time chamber and never came out again. Something had obviously gone wrong, but by the time anyone had noticed, it was far too late. At the end of the first day they were gone, a massive portal had opened in the sky above West City, emanating a darkness that had enveloped the entire sky in a purple light. Teems of ships came pouring out, immediately firing upon everything that came in its path. Hundreds of thousands of people died before anyone realized what was happening. Wherever the portal came from, it brought destruction and death and pain with it.

It brought Frieza.

Bulma barely escaped with hers and her children’s lives, fleeing in a ship she had modified for stealth operations -- something she had devised years ago as a “just in case” measure. Her parents weren't so lucky, despite her best efforts to reach them in time. What was left of earth’s fighters assembled to try and push back on the assault, but their efforts were more or less in vain. Tien and Piccolo were the first to go. No one had time to mourn.

Mere weeks passed before Frieza had gained control of the planet, his forces overwhelming everything the earth had thrown at his army. Survivors were rounded up and kept in the ruins of West City, corralled there while the assault continued. It didn’t take long for the planet’s leadership to fall into place in exchange for some manner of lenience. While discussions took place in a manner resembling peaceful, Bulma and what was left of the Z-Fighters refused to surrender so easily. She and a small team attempted to reach the Lookout only to discover it had already been destroyed by Frieza himself. So they turned their attention elsewhere, decided to gather the Dragon Balls, and spent months scouring the earth in their search.

It goes without saying that they weren’t the only ones looking, but after losing Pan and Videl to a battle with Frieza’s forces, Gohan -- their last hope in Goku’s absence -- attempted to defeat Frieza on his own.

He failed, and the team was forced to go their separate ways upon his death. The loss hit harder than any of them had been prepared for, and it didn’t take long for Frieza to get his wish after all. Chi-Chi and Goten fled to the wilds only to be captured and forced back to the city. Master Roshi was killed and kame house destroyed; Yamcha barely survived his encounter with a squad and was forced into slavery for his efforts. Krillin and 18 were separated, with Krillin forced into slavery and 18 secreted away for an unknown purpose.

After nearly two years of fighting, the final blow to the resistance occurred when Frieza’s men managed to get their hands on Bulla and Marron. In exchange for complete surrender and servitude, the girls would be allowed to live. They had no choice but to comply, but in the end, the girls remained aboard Frieza’s personal ship from there on out.

Years went by, and earth had been claimed as part of Frieza’s renewed conquest. Resilient as ever, humanity adapted to their new reality, spurned on by the quick and utter destruction of any rebellion. Trunks was separated from Bulma; while he was enlisted into Galactic Frieza Army, Bulma was put to work in the science division. Bulla’s life was the only reason for their compliance, though it would be nearly a decade before either would be allowed to see her again. And in that time, both had almost completely grown accustomed to their new roles.

In the first ten years of his reign, Frieza’s leadership saw that earth became a central hub for everything galactic related. The planet was transformed into a far more advanced version of itself, with some grounded skyscrapers reaching above the clouds and entire buildings floating among them. Humans had been split into various classes -- some became soldiers, some slaves, elites and the middle class, and everything else in-between. And Frieza was no fool, recognizing that humanity was easier to control than most other species when they had distractions, so the tournaments and other such trivialities continued. Adjustments made came in the form of death being introduced as an element of the fighting tournaments, but even that didn’t seem to sway mankind’s need for entertainment. In fact, their blood lust only seemed to enhance their enjoyment.

Ten years turned to twenty, and even the mere idea of resistance seemed little more than a far off dream. Everyone did their jobs, lived their lives, and made the best of what they had while they could. And when it came down to it, isn’t that all they ever wanted anyway?

So, hope was thoroughly, utterly destroyed. Any chance of fighting back was long gone, thus it goes without saying that no one was on the Lookout when the door finally opened.


	2. Time's Up

Things weren’t so bad. Not as bad as they could be since Frieza had come into power, anyway. At the very least, it could’ve been worse — they could’ve been subjected to the same fate as Satan City. The place had been nearly destroyed in a battle between Frieza and Gohan, and was since completely decimated. Or North City, which had since been turned into the main slave hub — most slaves were processed and put to work from there.

To that end, West City was much better off. It was the central location for most of Frieza’s operations. Soldiers and scientists stayed here, and most of the benign population too. Normal humans who posed no threat in any way were put to work on the day-to-days; bakeries and schools and shops. It was almost normal here, if you were able to look past just how incredibly advanced the whole place was now. Twenty years ago, most buildings were a pretty modest height, but now? Everything either reached the clouds, or hovered among them independently. It was all pretty symbolic, too: the ground-level buildings were for the lower class citizens, and the higher ups were for...well, the higher ups.

There was a time when Trunks could have been considered an elite, but that time died along with his mother’s fortune. Now he was just like any other soldier, having been enlisted into Frieza’s army before his tenth birthday and trained under a strict regiment. He couldn’t even remember a time before his training, his entire life had become so consumed by it for so long. He was seventeen before he was granted permission to see his mother again, and by that point he’d fallen in line well enough to become a full-fledged member of the Armored Forces.

After his promotion, Trunks had been assigned a partner — another earthling named Pasley, a strong young woman with vibrant teal hair and deep brown skin. She’d come from Central City and proved a formidable fighter in her own right, and while the pair had clashed at first, they came to understand one another in time. Unfortunately, it took them nearly destroying a portion of the barracks for them to come to an understanding, and even then it was only after they’d taken their punishments.

Patrols became a part of their duties shortly thereafter, which was what they had been doing when he first felt it, a wave of familiarity sweeping over him in an instant and bringing him to a halt mid-air. Pasley turned her head slightly to look at him curiously, her brows raised slightly at his bewildered expression.

“What is it?” she asked. Trunks remained silent for a moment then shook his head stiffly.

“Nothing. My stomach just felt...strange,” he said. He adjusted his weight from one foot to the other and crossed his arms, his brows furrowing as he looked down at the ground. “Yeah. Just my stomach.”

“It’s that crap you ate earlier,” she teased. “I told you never to take free food from a street vendor.”

“What can I say? I was hungry, and it’s not like he’d have anything to gain by trying to poison me,” Trunks said defensively. “Besides, I don’t even think poison can hurt me.”

“Sure, but you’re a half-breed,” she said with a shrug. “And you know, poison isn’t the only thing that makes bad food bad. It could have just been, well... _bad_ food.” Pasley punched his shoulder, causing him to take a step back. “Go on. We’re about wrapped up here anyway. I’ll fill out your paperwork when I get back and tell the captain you’re dealing with some unruly idiots or something.”

“You sure? You know how the captain gets when he feels like someone’s slacking off.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll half-ass your part of the report so he won’t even notice!”

“ _Wow_ , gee whiz, you’re a real pal. Thanks.”

“Get out of here, dumbass,” Pasley said, turning from him and taking off into the air. Trunks stood and watched her go, waiting until she was well out of sight before he allowed a frown to cross his lips. He turned away and looked up at the sky behind him, his eyes narrowing in the direction of a place he was certain Frieza would have destroyed by now.

 _The Lookout_.

Truth be told, he’d only heard stories about this place from the other soldiers. Even then, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he arrived. Of course it was in ruins, and though it had been years since anyone had last been here, the stench of death was thick in the air. For a moment he had the vaguest sensation that he’d been here before, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on when or why. He moved silently across the empty courtyard, raising a hand up to activate his scouter, more on instinct than anything because he could already tell that whoever was here was powerful enough to render its use pointless. As for his own power level, he kept it at zero, unwilling to give away his own position as he crept closer to the massive building in the center. Whoever they were, that was where their energy was coming from.

“—you _idiot_! Somehow this is all _your_ fault!”

“Mine?! I don’t even know what happened!”

If the feeling wasn’t familiar enough, the voices certainly were. Trunks stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening in a mix of both disbelief and...fear.

“Where is everyone? What happened here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? This place was attacked while we were in there.”

“Sure, but...something doesn’t feel right.”

Trunks didn’t have to spend too much time doubting his own hearing. The sight of one man, with his wild, unmistakable spiky hair the first thing that came into vision as he rounded the corner. Son Goku was easily Frieza’s greatest enemy, but...he was dead, wasn’t he? Surely this was a mistake. Some kind of fluke with his own eyesight. Trunks barely managed to gather himself enough to move back behind a wall, peeking out to stare in utter shock.

“Yeah...something _definitely_ doesn’t feel right.”

Goku’s tone was serious now, and friendly eyes narrowed as he seemed to concentrate on something. Trunks could do nothing but stare, his mind racing at a million miles a second. Everything he’d been taught for the last twenty-odd years was screaming at him to report to Frieza immediately. His muscles were burning to take flight and tell him everything, to make Frieza proud and ascend above his peers. But something was stopping him, something else deep in the pit of his stomach urging him not to move. To not listen to the rattle of his bones shaking with years of re-education. Of training.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

The voice came from behind him, and cut through every single part of his being like a sharp knife. Trunks wheeled around quickly and felt an immense weight settle in his gut so quickly that it felt like he’d been punched. All the air left his lungs instantly as he took in the sight of his father, very much alive, and very much staring him down as if expecting an answer.

 _No_. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening. Even after all these years, he recognized the man in an instant, and yet everything in his mind was screaming that it couldn’t be. That it was a mistake.

A ghost?

“I...this can’t be—” Trunks could barely formulate words, let alone a full sentence.

“What have you come back to fix this time, boy?” Vegeta sounded impatient now, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed upon Trunks’ face. But something in his expression changed as he took in his son’s appearance, eyes narrowing further as they seemed to trail from the young man’s face to the scouter. Especially on Trunks of all people. But as his gaze trailed over him, the symbol on the chest plate of Trunks’ armor caused him to stiffen.

“What is —  _why_ are you wearing that?” Vegeta said, practically growling the words as he stepped closer.

It was in that instant that Trunks realized he had to make a choice. If he left and told Frieza, there was no doubt he’d be rewarded for handing over his greatest enemies. He and his mother both could move up higher, live in nicer dwellings, maybe even see Bulla in person again. That was what he _should_ do, he knew that.

And yet...something was stopping him. Something _else_ inside him was urging him to do the opposite of that.

His internal struggle came to an end when a sharp alert came from his scouter. Four powerful individuals were heading this way, and he knew exactly who they were, some of his own teammates, people he’d trained beside for the last decade of his life. Their approach didn’t escape Goku or Vegeta and the two turned toward them, prepared for a fight. But...no, it couldn’t happen. Even if —  _when —_  they defeated these guys, Trunks knew Frieza would find out about it.

_He could be a hero in the Frieza Force. Or…_

Or watch his father die?

“We have to leave,” Trunks heard himself say. “Please — I can’t explain everything here, so you’re going to have to trust me.”

_He couldn’t do it._

It might have been easier to let Vegeta fight Tappa’s crew, actually. While he knew it would only lead to senseless devastation, Trunks had convinced the two saiyans to follow him. Well, if he was being honest, it was mostly Goku having to practically drag Vegeta away from the promise of ‘a real fight.’ As Trunks led them away from the Lookout, he continued to wrestle with the voice inside his head. If anyone found out what he’d done, it would be the end for him, his mother, maybe his sister...though, if he was honest, he doubted Frieza would kill Bulla at this rate. She was far too useful to him now.

Trunks shook his head of the thought as he led Goku and Vegeta away, shoving away the internal struggle he was still having long enough to search his memory for his destination.

“Down there!” he yelled back to the men, pointing down at a sea of dense forest. “It’s not far, but we’ll need to go by foot for the rest of the way.”

“You’d better have answers for us, boy!” Vegeta snapped, fury lacing every word. Goku said nothing, the stern look on his face practically frozen there as he watched Trunks intensely. It’s not like the younger man hadn’t noticed the way Goku was watching his every move, as if studying him or waiting for something to happen. It made Trunks wonder if Goku knew he’d considered betraying them.

“I promise I’ll explain everything as soon as I can,” Trunks said as his feet touched the ground. “But if I’m honest...I don’t even know where to begin.”

“From the beginning,” Vegeta said sharply. “ _Obviously_.”

“Right…”

They’d walked in relative silence for nearly twenty minutes, with Vegeta’s patience wearing thinner by the second. Goku had kept to himself, still watching Trunks’ every move carefully, and Trunks himself was doing his best not to completely fall apart in front of both of them. The rattling had come back the closer he got to their destination, his heart pounding in his chest so hard that it was effectively drowning out whatever criticism his father was occasionally throwing at him. His resolve nearly failed him entirely by the time they’d reached the massive metal door barely visible underneath vines and oversized leaves.

“Here it is,” Trunks murmured, stepping forward and punching a small panel lightly. It revealed a series of numbers and he put in the code quickly, the numbers seared in his brain almost as well as his training. The door began to open with a low rumble, coming to a slow stop about halfway. Trunks stepped forward the pushed them open the rest of the way, barely putting any effort in the action yet still feeling exhausted as he stepped through.

“Mother built this place,” he said, half-explaining to the two behind him and half to himself. “As a shelter in case...things got bad.”

He moved in auto-pilot now it seemed, as he brushed dust off a control panel a few feet away from the door and pressed a button to close the door behind Goku and Vegeta. The pair stepped in and took a second to look around — the facility was pretty massive for being so deep in the forest. Reinforced steel walls ensured their power levels would be well hidden, the room itself shaped like a circle. There were four doors across the room, each one with a different number between one and four sitting above them. Trunks took a few steps forward and examined each door for a moment, mumbling to himself as if trying to remember what his mother had told him about the rooms.

“Right — it’s this one,” he said, stepping toward number two. “The kitchen should still have preserved food there.”

“Oh, good!” The sudden lightness in Goku’s voice startled Trunks enough to make him jump. “I’m starving!”

A couple flights of stairs later and the three were digging through various boxes and retrieving capsules of preserved food, devouring through each plate that appeared before them like they were nothing more than snacks. Trunks wasn’t able to eat as much as either of them, his own stomach still uneasy from his sudden shift in allegiance. He settled back in his chair and watched them instead, taking in the reality that both his father and his master’s greatest enemy were sitting directly across from him. It was all a little surreal, to say the least.

“So, what’s going on, Trunks?” Goku said, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. “Sure seems like we missed a lot.”

“Yes, and tell us why you’re wearing —  _that_ ,” Vegeta added, sizing up his son as he shoved aside the stack of bowls in front of him.

Trunks took in a deep, shuddering breath and did his best to ignore the way his entire body tensed against what he was about to say.

“I...I don’t know how to start,” he began. At the sight of Vegeta opening his mouth — probably to make a very helpful, very friendly comment — he held up his hand. “I know, from the beginning, but...but I don’t know what the beginning is to you.”

“What do you mean ‘to us’?” Goku asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Well...as far as anyone knows, you both died when you went into the hyperbolic time chamber.”

Goku’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “What? No we didn’t. We just went to train!”

“That’s what we thought, but when you never came out—”

“What do you mean, ‘never came out’?” Vegeta cut in, shaking his head. “We were gone for one day to you. We came out to _your_ mess.”

“No,” Trunks said, his tone hardening. “You didn’t.”

“Then how do you explain why you were the only one there and the Lookout was destroyed?” Vegeta said, paying no heed to the shift in Trunks’ voice.  
“That’s not what I mean,” Trunks lowered his chin and stared at the table. “I mean, you didn’t just leave for a day to us. It’s been a lot longer than that...a really, really long time.”

“How long?” Goku asked, leaning forward.

Trunks went quiet, his jaw tightening and teeth clenching down so hard he might have broken every one of them if Goku hadn’t pressed further.

“How long, Trunks?”

“Twenty four years.”

The rest came tumbling out after that, so quickly and so monotonously that Trunks couldn’t even think about stopping himself. He explained everything about the portal, about Frieza’s conquest, the annexation of the planet. No hesitation came from him as he explained what happened to Gohan and his family, and could feel the rage surging from Goku as he did so.

“Chi-Chi and Goten are alive,” he offered, at the very least. “They’re still out there, working and living somewhere near Central City, I think.”  _As slaves,_ he thought.  _But at least they’re not dead._

“Where is your mother?” Vegeta asked, and suddenly Trunks realized just how much he’d avoided talking about himself and his own family. For a moment, he considered not answering, but one look at his father told him that wasn’t an option.

“Mother’s fine. She lives in West City, with his grace’s—” he stopped short, then cleared his throat and continued. “—with Frieza’s permission. She works in the science division, providing most of the weapons and armors we use out on the field.”

“And the girl?”

The girl? Trunks paused a moment, then pressed his lips together tightly. _Bulla._  Of course he’d want to know. A memory flashed across his mind of the last time he saw his father: the man had been uncharacteristically playing with her while she sat giggling in her crib before he left to train. But she was just a baby then, barely able to stand on her own two legs. How was Trunks supposed to explain what she was now?

“She’s...alive,” he said finally. “I haven’t seen her in years, though. Not in person anyway.”

“Why do you keep talking like we’re going to know what you mean?” Vegeta said viciously. “Say what you mean or say nothing at all.”

Trunks had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out, anger building up in his chest almost instantly. How could his father make such demands of him after he _left them_ to this fate? How could he even begin to explain what they had to do to survive? What his mother had done, what _he_ had done? How could he explain that he knew Bulla as well now as he did when she was just a baby?

No. He had to control his emotions. He owed that to his mother, at least.

“Mother tried to find the Dragon Balls, to wish you guys back and put an end to Frieza before he could kill us all,” Trunks began, voice shaking from his lingering anger. “But he found them first. He took Bulla and Marron and told us they’d live _only_ if me, mother, Krillin, and 18 did what he said. I haven’t seen her in years, and mother only gets to visit her once every few months, if she’s had good behavior. But…”

Another hesitation. Or maybe he was stalling?

“But Bulla’s not...she’s not like _us_. She didn’t know what it was like before. She barely knows me or mother. All she’s known is Frieza, and she’s one of his most influential supporters.”

The sharp spike in pure, unfiltered rage was unmistakable as Vegeta shot to his feet, in all his super Saiyan might looking every bit as ready to fly off and take on the entirety of Frieza’s forces on his own.

“I’ll kill him!” he roared. “I’ll tear him apart limb from limb and I’ll make him _suffer_ for what he’s done!”

“If you do that, we’re all dead!” Trunks yelled, standing to his feet. Goku stood, but remained silent. “He got the Dragon Balls and made his wish, remember?! He’s untouchable, but mother _isn’t_!”

“I won’t allow him to keep my daughter as his own personal _play thing_!” Vegeta practically howled. “I won’t allow it!”

“Are you kidding me? She got the best deal out of all of us!” Trunks said, a touch of bitterness lingering on his words. “She gets to sit in her own personal little palace and look pretty all day!”

It was as if Trunks had punched him square in the jaw, because the way in which Vegeta stopped in his furious tirade was almost violent. While he wasn’t exactly calm, he also wasn’t about to try and bust through the ceiling and go on a suicide mission either.

“Explain yourself, boy,” he growled, eyes narrowing. Trunks let out a scoff and shook his head.

“She and I were treated _very_ differently. I was sent for training as soon as they found mom, and...my techniques were corrected. But Bulla? He made it a point not to let her learn anything about fighting. Her job is different from ours, her and Marron both are his own personal propaganda machines.”

“Propaganda? What the hell does that mean?!”

“It _means_ that they’re like his little songbirds. They entertain the masses with songs, most of them about the same crap. Love songs, parties, and things that appeal to the elites and those who want to be elite. But some of them are _for_ Frieza, too, and the people adore them for it. She’s practically the face of his regime — she makes sure everyone has a reason to be loyal.”

Loyal. The word cut through him so sharply he fell completely silent. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over him as he took in exactly everything he had just said. He’d...betrayed Frieza so quickly. Turned on him so utterly in such a short time that he couldn’t even tell how much time had passed. If he went back now, if he left and went straight to Frieza, maybe he’d show mercy? Maybe he’d still show him some semblance of pride? Wait, what was he—

“Trunks?” Goku's voice broke through his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

“What?”

Vegeta’s outburst had only just been tempered, but Trunks could tell the man was still seething. The fact that he’d allowed Goku to take over the questioning seemed enough confirmation to Trunks that he wasn’t in any mood to continue for now.

“I said, where’s Bulma now? Maybe she can help.”

“She’s...in West City. But that’s also where Frieza is. If you try to go there, he’ll find out you’re alive and…it’s just better if you stay here. In fact…” Trunks stepped away from the table and looked around the room. “There’s an emergency comm system here. I’ll activate it and tell her to come here when she can. That’d be safer.”

His eyes landed on a control panel in the far corner and he walked over to it, allowing himself a moment of silence while he punched in the numbers. For a brief, fleeting minute he considered punching in a different set of numbers, ones that would surely make his life easier in the long run...but, no, his mother wouldn’t forgive him. He couldn’t bear the thought, not with how much faith she had in the two men who were now staring at each other like they could talk with just their eyes.

Then again, she wouldn’t need to know what part he played in…

No. No, he punched in her numbers.

“There,” he said after he was finished. “That should do it. In the meantime...I should go.”

“Go? Go where, exactly?” Vegeta said, his eyes practically burning holes in Trunks’ head.

“Home. If I don’t show up for my patrol in the morning, they’re going to try and find me. I can’t put mother at risk.”

Vegeta only let out a short scoff, turning his head away and folding his arms across his chest. Trunks took that to mean he understood and gave a nod as he made his way back toward the door. He remained quiet while the same uncertainties began to flood his mind, but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Goku, and he was looking at Trunks with that same intense gaze.

“Trunks...thank you for helping us. We really owe you one.”

Something in the way he said it left Trunks feeling guilty the entire flight home, his mind playing through every scenario over and over. If he betrayed them, he’d be betraying his own father and damning the world to Frieza’s rule forever. But if he betrayed Frieza, he’d be damning his mother and sister, all for just a _chance_ to end Frieza's reign? Make the world go back to...normal?

Either way, he was damning someone, and he wasn’t entirely sure which was worse.

He didn’t get more than a couple of steps inside before Bulma was on him, her arms wrapping around him tightly. It’d been years since the last time they’d been allowed to see each other in private, and he expected she must have pulled a number of favors to make this meeting happen. While he’d like to say that he let himself sink into her embrace like he used to as a child, he found that he couldn’t — his entire body was too tense, too rigid to relax. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, Trunks!” she cried against his chest. “Is it true? Are they really back?”

“Yes, mother,” he said, though his voice sounded far away to him.

“I have to go to them,” she said, the tears almost immediately drying up as she took a step back. “I have to see them and tell them everything I know.”

It’d been so long since the last time he’d seen that look on her face, the one that practically screamed she was going to take on the world. The last time she looked like that, they’d taken Bulla. But Bulla was long gone, and she didn’t have much to lose anymore.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop her now.

“I don’t know how long they’ll stay there,” he said, halfheartedly trying to give her reasons to stay. “Goku seemed pretty angry, and...and father more so.”

“Hmph! Serves them right for leaving us for this long! Maybe I ought to let them stew for a while,” she said, but her resolve lasted about four seconds before she brought a hand to her cheek and sighed. “Who am I kidding? I have to see them. It’s been so long...do you think they’ll even recognize me?”

It took Trunks a moment to realize what she was talking about. To him, she was just...mother. She always looked like mother, sounded like mother — nothing about her was different to him. But if he thought about it hard enough, he could understand what she meant. Before they went to train, Bulma’s blue hair had been cropped short and her fashion was, well, fashionable. Twenty four years was a long time, though, and she didn’t look the same at all. Her hair was long, grown past her shoulders and kept in a loose ponytail, and time had certainly caught up with her. He watched as she turned toward the mirror on the hallway wall and lightly touch her own face, prodding at the wrinkles around her eyes and frowning at her own reflection. To him, she was as pretty as ever. But he knew that she was smart enough to realize that father went into the chamber somewhere in his late thirties and came out in his late thirties, while she’d gone well into her fifties.

“You look great, mother,” he said. “Really — he’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

The two spent only a few more minutes together before she gave him one last hug and left. Trunks stood still, staring at the closed door as he let his mind go blank. So much had happened in the day that he wasn’t even sure how to process it all.

When he woke up this morning, he was a loyal member of the Armored Guard. He enjoyed his patrols with Pasley, worked hard to provide safety to his city, and joining the Honor Guard was the only thing on his mind. But seeing Goku again...seeing his _father_ again...all of it got turned upside down. Now he didn’t know what to do — that rattling feeling returned and shook him to his core. It took everything in him not to give in to that feeling.

If anything, it took too much.


	3. Bittersweet

Bulma’s life had fallen into a certain routine over the last couple of decades, and today had started off no differently. When she woke in the morning, she grabbed her cup of coffee and ate a mixture of rice and eggs. She showered, brushed her hair and teeth, listened to the latest songs on the radio and waited maybe a little too long to hear her daughter’s voice again. Then, she got to work and set about making adjustments to the latest batch of armor for the army. Reflective panels were added as part of an effort to bolster stealth operations and it had taken the better part of the year to perfect the equipment she’d need.

It hadn’t always been like this, of course — once upon a time, Bulma rebelled in her own way. At first by refusing to cooperate and then by intentionally sabotaging her own creations. It was only when the lives of her then-toddler aged daughter and pre-teen son were threatened that she cooperated. Occasionally the threats would return, but along with them came “rewards” too; while she wasn’t permitted to live with her children anymore, she was granted visitation with them on an extremely limited basis. Before she knew it, her little ones had grown, and it pained her heart every time she saw them and realized just how long it’d been since the last time.

It was a cruel but effective method to keep her in life, considering she hadn’t even thought about rebelling for well over a decade. She was tired of fighting, tired of being afraid for them, and every time she saw them it felt more and more like they had left her behind.

But now it was like someone had shot adrenaline directly into her heart. A surge of grief, pain, joy, and anger had washed over her the instant she deciphered Trunks’ message. At first she thought something terrible had happened if he was contacting her from the shelter, that maybe Frieza had changed his mind about keeping her son alive after all, but fear had been swept away by that rush of emotion when she broke the code.

Goku and Vegeta were  _alive_.

The thought alone was almost foreign to her. The years she’d spent mourning them, never being sure of what happened and only assuming Frieza must have killed them before he conquered the rest of the planet, just as he did to Buu. Oh, the nights she’d spent grieving her husband, allowing herself to sob only when she knew Trunks and Bulla were sound asleep and later when she was left totally alone in her designated living quarters. Her heart ached at the very thought of seeing his face again, hearing his voice, feeling him wrap her up in his arms. She shuddered in spite of herself as she adjusted her flight trajectory, something she did multiple times to ensure she wasn’t being followed.

Though she couldn’t say she’d earned total trust from Frieza, she had at least earned enough freedom to have her own plane. He knew that she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the lives of her children. And she knew that if she were caught leaving the city at this hour without permission, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish her. She’d taken great pains to deactivate any tracking systems that were hidden aboard, and only took off when she was satisfied. Still, she was taking a huge risk and she knew it. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she increased the speed of her plane, her brows furrowing together. She _had_ to do this — she had no choice. Trunks was strong now, and Bulla had become an integral part of the society he built. At the very least, he had to know it’d cause him more trouble than it’s worth.

_Right?_

The night sky became clearer the further away from the city she got, the stars shining bright against a backdrop of deep blues and blacks. It was nearly midnight by the time she reached the shelter, her hands shaking as she put the plane back in its capsule. Her heart was beating hard against her chest and she struggled to keep her breath steady, her head feeling light as she walked into the shelter and made for door number two and carefully walked down the stairs.

“H-hello?” she called out as her eyes sweeping across the table covered almost entirely by dirty dishes. For a moment there was silence, and she felt her heart begin to sink into her stomach. Trunks wouldn’t have lied about something like this, right? This wasn’t a loyalty test or—

“Woman.”

She could have sworn her heart stopped. It had to have, because suddenly she couldn’t hear its pounding, couldn’t even feel it. It took all she had to find the strength to turn around, but the moment she saw those dark eyes, it was like she’d lost every bit of control over her body. Her knees buckled under her as she let out a strangled sob, hand shooting up to cover her mouth. Vegeta caught her easily before she hit the floor, a look sitting somewhere between concern and mild shock on his face as she cried.

“Y-you idiot! How could you leave your own wife behind like that! Don’t you have a heart? Don’t you care about your family?!” Bulma managed between heavy sobs, weakly hitting his arms. “How could you be so selfish? Do you have any idea what they did to us?! You bastard! You heartless bastard!”

She lost the ability to speak, her words completely drowned out by her crying. Part of her was just as angry at herself for her display of weakness, but the other part insisted it was justified. She’d spent such a large part of her life mourning him only to discover he’d not only been alive this whole time, but had been _training_. She swore right then, even as he held her in his arms, that if he ever uttered another word about training again she’d kill him her damn self.

When she managed to stop crying long enough to compose herself, it felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Vegeta had remained silent for the entirety of her breakdown, either out of shock or just necessity, she couldn’t be sure of which. She dried her eyes and used the sink to clean off her face, sniffling to herself as she allowed silence to sit between them. She hadn’t seen Goku yet, so she could only assume he was off somewhere else to give them privacy. As much as she missed him too, she appreciated him even more for his awareness. She also felt a pang of remorse for the Son family as she thought about the last time she saw Chi-Chi, the other woman nearly worn completely down from all the fighting and running.

“Well, you sure missed a lot,” she said at last, turning back to face Vegeta. “How could you not notice that so much time had passed?”

“You know how the chamber works, woman. We were there to train,” he said gruffly. “We had no reason to believe anything was wrong. For us, we had only been inside for a year.”

“Just a year? How could _that_ be?”

“How should I know? You’re the genius,” he said, a hint of pride touching the edges of his voice. She let a tiny smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

“ _That_ hasn’t changed one bit,” she said, crossing her arms and closing her eyes with a quick nod. “So then, someone must have sabotaged the integrity of the hyperbolic time chamber. But, how? That’s supposed to be impossible...it’s the only explanation that makes sense, though. One year for you turned into twenty-four for us, because normally it would have only been twenty-four _hours_.”

Bulma didn’t notice the look on Vegeta’s face while she spoke, which settled neatly into a vaguely irritated scowl as she continued through a variety of possibilities for what was behind the time distortion.

“It’s probably fair to assume Frieza himself doesn’t have a solid grasp on the concept of space-time manipulation, so maybe someone’s working for him...or through him. It would make sense, right?”

“Stop this pointless speculation. What’s done is done, and we know what we need to do now,” Vegeta said. “I’ll kill Frieza.”

“Whoa, hold on there tough guy,” she said, shaking her head at him. “Didn’t Trunks tell you he made a wish on the Dragon Balls? He’s immortal now — no one can kill him.”

“Then I’ll simply tear him apart and scatter his remains across the galaxy. He may not be able to die, but surely he’s not indestructible.”

“Do you really think we didn’t consider that ourselves? Gohan died trying!” Bulma snapped, then quickly bit her lip. It happened so long ago, yet at the same time the pain of losing the boy was still so fresh in her heart.

“Listen, going after Frieza directly is stupid — stop it!” she interrupted herself to put a finger in Vegeta’s face, stopping him from speaking before she was done. “Don’t you forget that it’s not just you on the line here! I didn’t fight to keep my babies alive for twenty years only for you to go and get them killed for your own vanity, Vegeta!”

The threat was clear in her voice, her eyes practically on fire as she spoke. It was enough to make Vegeta back off and fold his arms in indignation, his scowl somehow managing to deepen. At the very least, she was relieved to see him surrender to her. And actually pretty happy that she still had him wrapped neatly around her finger. She gave a satisfied huff and placed both hands on her hips.

“The only way to stop Frieza is to find the Dragon Balls, and I doubt he let them stay scattered out there for long after he made his wish. So we need to figure out where they are...which means I need to go back and get to work. I’ll see if I can gain access to the main hub system. That’s probably the best way to find out where they are!”

“I— what? Go _back_? You can’t do that,” he said, stepping toward her. “I won’t allow you to place yourself in harm’s way needlessly.”

“Sweetie, I’ve _been_ needlessly in harm’s way my entire life. This is hardly new.”

“You just said that Trunks and Bulla’s lives were on the line as well,” he said. “Do you think he would spare them for your betrayal?”

Bulma paused, her lips thinning as she considered his words, then shook her head.

“I know what’s at stake, so...I’ll be careful. Trust me, I know what he’ll do if I get caught, but it has to be done, there’s no getting around it.”

“Well, I’m not waiting around here.” Vegeta turned and walked out the door into the main room before Bulma had a chance to react.

“H-hey! Wait! You can’t just leave here, it’s way too dangerous!”

“I already told you — I’m _not_ waiting around here.”

“If Frieza finds out you’re both alive, it’s going to start a war!”

“Let him come, then. I’m not afraid of _Frieza_.”

“Did you even listen to me earlier? Did spending a year in there just make your skull thicker?! Trunks and Bulla—“

“I’ll just go get them.”

“ _It’s not that simple, Vegeta_!”

“Trunks told me about Bulla. She’ll come with me whether she wants to or not!”

“She’s too heavily protected! You’ll probably just get her hurt before you’d actually get her out!”

“Why must you insist on doubting me, woman?!”

“Because you don’t wanna get anything through your thick saiyan skull!”

“What I don’t get is your need to undermine me at every opportunity!”

“Not everything can be solved by punching it into submission!”

It was at that point Goku suddenly appeared between the two of them, gingerly reaching both hands out to keep them separated, though Bulma knew that it was probably meant more for her than Vegeta. Her husband would never, ever hit her, but Bulma wasn’t afraid to lay a punch or two on him, even if he didn’t really feel it. Especially if it meant keeping him away from her children.

“O-kaaaay, this is getting a little out of hand, guys,” he said nervously. “Vegeta, we can’t go fight Frieza head on, no matter how bad we want to. But Bulma, we can’t just sit around and do nothing. You say people’s lives are in danger, and it sure seems like we got back a little late, but we have to do something. So what can we do?”

“You let me handle figuring out where the Dragon Balls are being kept, first of all,” she said, giving a pointed glare in Vegeta’s direction. “For the time being, I can make upgrades to the shelter so that you can train. You’re going to need it to fight Frieza again.”

“I mean we’re a lot stronger than the last time we faced Frieza, and we just spent a year training,” Goku said, rubbing the back of his head.

“No such luck. _This_ Frieza is way more powerful than he ever was before on top of being immortal, and his army is enormous. Even if you defeat him, you’ll have to find a way to get rid of his forces, and not all of them are from off-planet.”

“What, you mean some of them are actually from here?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what she’s saying,” Vegeta said. There was a weight to his voice that hadn’t been there before, and Goku gave only a curt nod in response.

“So you see, it’s not as simple as just destroying everything like you usually do,” Bulma said. “Let me find the Dragon Balls first. That way, we can make our wish. We might even be able to just reverse everything if we’re lucky!”

“Alright, so we have a plan!” Goku said, smiling. “What do Vegeta and I do?”

“Stay here,” Bulma repeated, crossing her arms.

“Aw, come on, Bulma!”

“Woman, I am _not_ staying here with him for longer than absolutely necessary.” Vegeta said, fuming as he let his fists ball up at his sides.

“Well it’s a good thing this _is_ absolutely necessary then, isn’t it, Vegeta?” Bulma said, turning back to face him. “There’s no way I’m going to take you back to West City and risk you being spotted.”

“Wait!” Goku exclaimed suddenly. “What if we wore disguises!?”

A deafening silence settled between the three as Vegeta and Bulma both stared at Goku blankly, who was looking between the pair excitedly. After several beats, Vegeta let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his forehead, while Goku gave a nervous laugh.

“It’s not _that bad_ of an idea, right?” he said, sheepishly.

“Actually...no, it isn’t,” Bulma said, surprising both of the men. She stepped away and brought a hand to her chin, her brows knitting together while she worked through the thoughts tumbling in her brain. “We...we _could_ disguise you guys. At least to see first-hand what we’re dealing with. But you have to promise me you’ll come right back here and you’ll stay here until I tell you to come back.”

“You can’t be seriously considering this idea,” Vegeta scoffed. “I’m not wearing a stupid costume.”

“Either you wear a stupid costume or you sit here until I get the Dragon Balls!” Bulma wheeled around to glower at him. The look alone seemed to make Vegeta stand down, and he let out an indignant huff of air and curled his lip.

“Good! Now, come with me so we can get you two new clothes.”

It might have been easier to herd angry wet cats than it was to coax two fully grown Saiyan  _men_ into wearing clothes they didn’t like. “This is _humiliating_ ,” Vegeta said, his tone sitting just above a whine. Bulma was busy brushing her hands over the wrinkles of the clothes she’d shoved him in.

“Nonsense, you look very handsome!” Bulma replied as she came around him and forced herself to stifle down a laugh. “The mustache and beard combo is a...real good look on you.”

If she was being honest, it kind of was. He looked good to her no matter what he wore or what was on his face, though in this case, it was a large bushy beard she’d slapped on his face to obscure his otherwise very distinctive features. Her eyes flickered up to the top of his hair and she brought a finger up to her chin, humming to herself. That was going to be harder to hide.

“I suppose we could stuff it down into a cap,” she said, mostly to herself.

“It won’t stay,” he said, looking at himself and glaring at the mechanic uniform she’d somehow managed to strong-arm him into. “I smell horrible.”

“Shush, the smell sells the entire thing,” she said, stepping forward and adjusting his collar. “If you don’t smell like you’ve been working under a bunch of machines, no one will believe you’re just an innocent mechanic named Joe.”

“ _Joe_?” Vegeta spat, sounding downright insulted. “Joe?!”

“Well you can’t be Vegeta. And besides,” she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek just above where the beard began, “my prince wouldn’t be caught _dead_ in these clothes.”

Vegeta growled low in the back of his throat as he reached up to defiantly wipe his cheek off.

“You put me in these clothes, woman,” he said.

“Yes and if I were a little younger I might just be taking you out of them, too,” she said, but the humor died from her face right after.

Seeing Vegeta and Goku again was amazing, even if she and her husband fell right into an argument. But in these quiet moments, when she could just sit and observe her man again, the knowledge of just how much time had passed crept back into the forefront of her mind. Vegeta was still perfect like she remembered, still covered in muscles like he was carved from marble. He was gorgeous and youthful, and everything she wasn’t anymore. She knew she wasn’t ugly by any stretch of the word, but...she was softer now. A little pudge had settled in her middle, and the lines that decorated the edges of her mouth and eyes were more pronounced. Even her hair was getting lighter, though it was hard to tell in certain lights.

All at once she was very, extremely aware of her age. She was older than her own husband now, and she had no idea how to feel about that. Did he even find her attractive anymore? Did he recognize her as his wife, or just as another version of his wife?

Her thoughts must have made themselves apparent in her face because she felt herself being pulled forward and held against his chest. For a moment she began to push back, but he kept her there, one of his hands reaching up to cup the back of her head, the other arm wrapped around her protectively. She settled into his hold, her eyes closing as she breathed a sigh of relief. Vegeta didn’t often express his feelings through words — well, through anyway, really. But actions mattered, and when he turned his head slightly to press his lips against the top of her head for a long moment, she felt the tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

_I love you, too._

“Wow, you look totally different, Vegeta!” Goku exclaimed as Vegeta emerged from the room, Bulma following behind him. “How did you get your hair to do that?”

“Lots and lots and lots of product,” Bulma said proudly. “And bobby pins.”

After their embrace, Bulma had set to work figuring out how to tame his spiky hair. It took a solid forty-five minutes, intermittently sprinkled with one argument after another, before she’d managed to convince every strand to lay flat against his head, the rest bundled up into as low a ponytail as she could make it. It was a strange look for him, if she was honest, but it did make him look totally different. Between his hair, the beard, and the outfit, he didn’t look much like Vegeta anymore.

If only he’d stop with the glaring, then he’d _really_ look different.

“Jeez, it looks so shiny, too,” Goku said, marveling at the sight before him.

“Shut up, Kakarot,” Vegeta grumbled, glowering at the floor with his arms crossed.

“I don’t know that I’m up for trying to fix your hair, Goku,” Bulma said, eyeing her friend’s head, thoroughly intimidated at the task already.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m gonna put it all in this hat!” Goku said, holding up a familiar looking hat. It was one of Krillin’s old baseball caps, and Bulma couldn’t help the sad smile that crossed her lips. “I might need help getting it all in there, but you can do that, right?”

“Sure thing,” she said, stepping forward to help tuck his hair underneath. She dug in her pockets for some bobby pins and used those to reinforce it. “There! You look good, Goku.”

“Thanks, B!” he said. Goku himself was wearing street clothes that were a little too big for him; a jacket, tan slacks, white t-shirt, and a pair of glasses he definitely didn’t need. They managed to do the impossible by making Goku look almost...unremarkable. Without his spiky hair and clothes that revealed his insane muscles, he looked like every other guy on the street.

Bulma glanced down at her watch and frowned.

“Oh dear, it’s almost four in the morning,” she said. “I have to get back. I’m expected in the lab in another hour.”

“Holy cow, isn’t that a little early?” Goku asked, surprised.

“You haven’t had any rest yet,” Vegeta said, eyes surveying her face carefully. She waved them both off with her hand.

“I’m used to it, and it’s not like I’ve never pulled an all-nighter before,” she said. “Anyway, let’s head out. We might as well get this over with.”

She led them outside of the shelter, doing her best not to appear as tired as she really was. If she was being honest, she was thoroughly exhausted. The whole day had taken such a toll on her that she was a little worried she wouldn’t be able to stay awake when she got to the lab. Oh, well. She’d just have to drink a lot of coffee to make up for it.

“Hold on — you two are _definitely_ not flying,” she said before the pair got too far ahead of her. They both looked back at her with mild disappointment, but she imagined neither were too terribly shocked by it either.

“Why not? No one noticed us earlier when we were with Trunks,” Goku said.

“That’s because Trunks is part of the Armored Forces. Even if someone saw you, they’d just assume he was taking care of new recruits or something,” she replied as she popped the capsule and tossed it on the ground. “If someone see two normal looking guys flying beside my plane, they’re going to report it.”

“Tch. Ridiculous.”

“Stuff it and pick a seat, Vegeta.” She held her hand out toward the plane, bowing slightly. “After you, my  _p_ _rince_.”


	4. Treason

“Hey, dumbass!”

“Ow! What the hell?!”

Trunks rubbed at the back of his head where Pasley’s fist had hit, glaring at her from the corner of his eye. She placed both of her hands on her hips and shook her head at him.

“Did you even hear the message?” she asked, motioning toward the intercom above them.

“Must’ve missed it. I was busy thinking,” Trunks said.

“No wonder you were so preoccupied,” she said with a smirk. “Sure takes a lot out of you to use that brain of yours once in a while.”

“Ha ha, hilarious,” he said, rolling his eyes. “What was the message?”

“They found Char last night out near the coast,” she said. “Turns out he’s been feeding information to one of those resistance groups from Central City.”

Trunks’ entire body went cold in an instant. Char was one of the Honor Guard, a loyalist through and through, set to rise up to the commanding ranks. He’d grown up under Frieza’s direct tutelage, was allowed to court Marron, and there was even talk of Frieza granting him permission to marry her. He was moving up in the world quicker than anyone else, and he threw it all away. Why? Why would he do that? Why would anyone?

Why would Trunks do the same thing?

“When’s the trial?” he asked, doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t going through an emotional and mental crisis at the moment. Pasley didn’t seem to notice.

“No trial. They’re going straight to the execution,” she said, shifting her weight. “You really were distracted if you missed all that.”

Trunks swallowed hard and looked away, out the window and toward the Earth Republic Building. There was a massive screen on the outside of it that usually played looped videos of propaganda and news. Marron and Bulla made frequent appearances in a variety of them, a daily reminder to Trunks that where his sister’s allegiances stood. Where his should also be.

Right now, the screen was occupied by a man with deep green skin and black hair. He was currently talking about the traitor, emphasizing that Char was working closely with a terrorist group who planned to set off bombs throughout the city and that it was Frieza who discovered his treachery. Occasionally the screen cut to an image of a distraught Marron, her blonde hair unusually unkempt, her blue eyes were filled with tears while her lips quivered as she detailed how betrayed she felt by the man she loved. Trunks felt his blood boil with rage underneath his skin, his mind coming back to the same question: how could Char do this?

But then again, how could Trunks stand there and be angry with Char after what _he_ had done?

He knew Goku and Vegeta were both alive. He _helped_ hide them from Frieza. He knew they were most likely planning a way to end Frieza, to destroy his way of life as his knew it. His anger toward inward to himself, his mind racing as he tried to get hold of himself.

“Hey...you okay?”

Pasley’s voice put an end to the chaos in his mind. He focused his attention on her face, eyeing the way that her brows were knit together, her gaze locked onto his face. Trunks realized how he must have looked -- his fists balled, power surging from him, a low rumble from the ground below his feet. He unclenched his fists and relaxed his jaw, shaking his head as he released a deep breath.

“Yeah, just...angry,” he said.

“I know. I can’t believe he’d do this -- I thought he was one of us,” she said, sounding genuinely disturbed. Trunks winced at her words, though he knew they weren’t for him.

The intercom buzzed to life and a stern voice demanded that all Armored Forces report to the Earth Republic Building immediately.

“Come on. It’ll be good to watch him get what he deserves,” Pasley said, a cruel smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. “Then we can go kick some rebel ass.”

“Right. It’ll be fun.”

Executions were a grand affair. The courtyard of the Earth Republic Building was massive, every surface made of pristine white stones and lined with deep purple and black banners. While the Armored Forces and Honor Guard marched in lines down the center, the sides were lined with benches where citizens were seated, all cheering and applauding the soldiers’ march. The closer to the center of the courtyard they got, the clearer the image became to Trunks. As part of the Armored Forces, he and Pasley were somewhere toward the middle row of the formation, behind five rows of the Honor Guard.

Even with the distance between them and the platform just before the building, Trunks could see Char standing directly in the center, winged by Commanders Ryce and Birren on each side of him. There was a black gag wrapped around his head, and the expression he wore was one of pure anger.

Trunks didn’t look at him for long, instead shifting his gaze to the two rows of seats behind him, where the High Ranking Elite Class were sat. He recognized Marron instantly; Marron looked like she’d been through hell, but was doing a remarkable job at holding back her tears. She was dressed in white with purple jewels woven through her hair, which had been carefully braided over her head. The dress had intricate pieces of silver lining the chest, trailing down and over her stomach. As beautiful as she looked, however, he took note of the stains on her face, the dark circles under her eyes, which were red from her tears. Bulla, on the other hand, looked entirely different from how he was used to seeing her, so much so that he nearly didn’t recognize her as the woman sitting beside Marron, clutching her hand tightly.

Her hair was extremely long and tied up in a high ponytail, and the natural blue had been flushed out, dyed a stark white, with hints of lavender just barely shimmering in the sunlight. It wasn’t a surprising change to Trunks -- her hair had changed colors so often that he could hardly remember the last time she’d had blue hair. The strands of her hair wrapped into a braid that traveled the length of her back, giving it a look that he was sure had been meant to resemble Frieza’s tail. As if to emphasize the similarity, purple jewels sat on top of her head, standing out against her newly platinum hair. Normally when he saw her on the screen, she wore something playful and provocative, yet now she mirrored Marron’s outfit, with a long white dress with decorative silver pieces hugging her torso from the left side.

She’d once looked so much like their mother, with the same hair and big blue eyes. She still did, of course, with the same face shape and structure. Yet right now, there was no mistaking who her father was -- her eyes were narrowed, dangerous and dark despite the sky-like color, and her skin was noticeably warmer in color compared to Marron’s. In this moment, her face looked so much like Vegeta’s that Trunks felt his mouth twitch while he pushed away the memory of last night’s events from his mind.

The crowd began to die down when the massive doors to the building opened, and only began to pick up in noise again when the members of Frieza’s Elite Guard appeared. Six in total, three on either side of the pod that carried Frieza’s second in command, Captain Almone. She was a tall human woman, with short cropped orange hair and bright green eyes. Freckles adorned her face, which might have made her look a little friendly if she didn’t wear such a severe expression all the time. She stepped out of the pod and walked up the steps of the platform, the cheering of the crowd almost deafening. Trunks straightened his stance along with the rest of the Armored Forces as soon as she reached the front of the stage, standing there a moment before raising both of her hands to quiet the crowd.

“At ease, soldiers,” she said, and Trunks followed the order without a second thought. “We have before us today the worst of the worst -- a traitor to our leader, Lord Frieza, and to you, the devoted people of this glorious city.” The crowd let out a loud hiss of anger, booing and shouting insults in Char’s direction. Captain Almone raised one hand to silence them again before continuing.

“Fear not, good people. We will not allow his treason to stand. Today, we execute this treasonous fool in Lord Frieza’s name, so that those who dare think to betray us might take pause and remember what happened to this snake! What will happen to anyone who thinks to defy Lord Frieza after all he has done for us!”

The High Ranking Elites stood at the same time, and Trunks couldn’t help but keep his gaze fixated upon his sister’s face, waiting for a change in her hardened expression. Captain Almone stepped back and turned toward Char. Ryce and Birren gave her a salute then moved to either side of the stage, while the High Ranking Elites behind followed suit, with one group on the left side and the other to the right. The platform was now mostly clear, with only Char and Captain Almone in the center, and she raised her left hand in his direction, stretching her fingers out as her palm began gathering energy.

“For Lord Frieza!”

A ki blast erupted from her hand and engulfed Char in a bright light, lingering a long moment so that he would suffer in its heat before its explosion completely decimated him, leaving behind a small crater. The crowd went wild, cheering and applauding like they had just watched a match at the World Tournament. The Armored Forces and Honor Guard did the same, cheering loudly and chanting Lord Frieza’s name. While Trunks joined in, his eyes never left his sister’s face, still waiting for something -- anything -- to change. But it never did, not once.

“Man, that was satisfying!” Pasley said as soon as they walked into the barracks, immediately pulling off her gloves and tossing them into the cleaning basket. “Hot day today, too. Hope that filth enjoyed burning alive.”

“Sure looked like it,” Trunks said as he pulled his chest piece off and set it neatly inside his locker. “I still can’t figure out why he did it.”

“Who knows? Maybe he was trying to overthrow Lord Frieza.”

“By defecting?”

Pasley shrugged. “Lesser men have tried harder and failed too.”

“Just doesn’t make any sense,” Trunks said, shaking his head. “He had everything. Why would he just...throw it away?”

He could feel Pasley’s eyes on him as he set about changing back into casual clothes, and while he’d normally take the opportunity to tease her for being a pervert. But right now, he focused on changing his clothes while he worked through the thoughts tumbling around in his mind.

Trunks couldn’t explain what he was feeling, couldn’t even put a name to it. All he knew was that a man he admired, that he looked up to as he trained every day, was just executed for treason. That he’d sold out Lord Frieza to some rebels, and he paid the price for it. Trunks couldn’t deny that he agreed with what Captain Almone did, that the execution was just. It was _treason_ , for Kami’s sake. But then again, he still hadn’t reported what he saw at the Lookout. Hadn’t reported that he’d led Frieza’s arch nemesis to a hidden shelter in the middle of nowhere. He still hadn’t requested an audience with Lord Frieza to beg forgiveness and lenience for keeping it quiet so long, for betraying him, for showing such _weakness_.

He’d been so focused on Bulla’s face because he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d shed a tear for him if Frieza demanded his death. He wondered if her hair would be messy and her face stained with tears. He wondered if Pasley would smirk and celebrate his death, or if she too would be filled with grief. And his mother…

Would his mother watch his execution on the screen? Or would her betrayal be discovered as well? Would they think Pasley was in on it? Would they both be executed at his side? The thought made him feel sick, and he couldn’t stop the grimace from crossing his face.

“Hey, Trunks,” Pasley said, forcing him out of his own head. “Are...are you okay?”

The concern in her voice was jarring, to say the least. She was leaning against the locker beside him, arms crossed while she watched him closely. Pasley very rarely, if ever, sounded so genuinely worried, and when Trunks’ eyes met hers, he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He had to tell her. He had to confess what he’d done, that he’d made a terrible mistake and that she should be the one to turn him in, if only to prove her own loyalty and be spared any guilt by association. He opened his mouth, fully prepared to tell her everything, when the sound of the door opening stopped him.

“Private Trunks! Hello, sir. I was sent by Dr. Briefs from the science division,” said the young man with a bow. “Your mother’s request to see you has been granted, and she would like you to bring your armor with you. Please, follow me.”

Trunks hesitated and shot a glance at Pasley, who shrugged and moved away to gather her things.

“I’ll see you for training later,” she said. He nodded in response and followed after the young man, taking one last look back at Pasley as he went.

The science division’s building didn’t look like much, especially not in comparison to the Earth Republic Building. It floated in the air just south of West City Tower, the second tallest building in the city, and had been the first structure to be granted air space thanks to his mother’s technological breakthroughs. It was large and only certain portions of it were restriction free, like the lobby area he was currently sitting in as he waited for his mother.

While he waited, he thought back on what he had been about to say to Pasley before he’d been interrupted and frowned at himself. He didn’t necessarily think it was wrong to tell her, but...maybe it wouldn’t have been a good idea. It would’ve just led to a massive fight and after everything the planet had been through, it would’ve been too much for anyone to handle. Plus, Frieza had only spared their planet from total destruction because he’d found a use for it. What if Goku’s reappearance was all it’d take for him to change his mind? Trunks shuddered to imagine what would happen.

“Thank you for coming, Trunks,” Bulma said, causing Trunks to look up at his mother. He stood and gave a slight bow, then followed her beyond the Official Access Only doors.

“I’m glad you came,” she said as she led him down a long hallway. “You brought your armor?”

“I did.”

“Good, I want to make some adjustments. You know, it wasn’t easy getting permission to see you again -- twice in one week! It’s a new record.”

“Sure is.”

Bulma glanced over her shoulder back at him, though he did his best to ignore it. He remained silent as they rounded a corner and walked through a metal door with her name on it, then set his armor down on her desk.

“Is that all you needed, mother?” he asked, standing straight and watching as she walked around to the other side of the desk. A look of confusion crossed her face for a moment as she watched him, then she let out a click of her tongue.

“You can stop being so formal, Trunks. I’m your mother, you know!” she chided him, wagging her finger in his face. “So knock it off! There aren’t any listening devices here, we can talk freely.”

His lips thinned as he surveyed the room, as if he’d be able to see any she might have missed. Though he supposed if they were obvious enough to see, she would have taken care of them by now. He allowed his shoulders to relax a little and gave a small sigh, then shook his head.

“It’s suspicious that you’ve visited me twice in less than 24 hours,” he said, pointedly. “Someone’s going to start asking questions and then what will we do?”

“I’ll tell them I’m your mother and after twenty years of loyal service to _Lord Frieza_ , I damn well better have earned as much visitation as I want!”

“That’s...that’s not how it works.”

“Well, it will be!”

Trunks brought a hand up and rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and briefly wondering why she was the way that she was. Part of him preferred the way she was a week ago, quiet and grateful to even see him. Now she was demanding and borderline comical in the way she spoke. Was that how she was before?

“Your father and Goku are here in the city,” she said. _That_ got his attention. His eyes snapped open and he dropped his hand back to his side, staring at her in a mix of horror and shock.

“W-what?! Are you kidding me?” he said, mouth agape.

“They insisted on seeing how bad things had gotten in person,” she said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, they’re wearing disguises! No one will recognize them, and Frieza’s always holed up in his ship anyway.”

“Do you have any idea how stupid this is?!” he yelled. “If they’re discovered, then it’s all over! Frieza’s going to kill us all!”

“That’s why they’re wearing disguises!”

“Mother, _please_! Tell them to leave, now!”

Bulma laughed at him and crossed her own arms, a bright smile spreading across her lips.

“You have no idea how stubborn saiyans are,” she said. “Anyway, everything will be fine, Trunks! I’ve been keeping tabs on them. And...there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, anyway.”

For as much trouble as Trunks was having even comprehending just how unbelievably ridiculous this entire situation was, he knew that arguing with his mother right now was a waste of time. She was going to win no matter what he said, and so he forced himself to let it go, gritting his teeth and giving out a long, weary sigh.

“What is it, then?” he said, defeated.

“Well...I was thinking about your sister,” she said slowly, as if she wasn’t sure how he was going to react to whatever she had to say. “I think we should...visit her.”

“Please tell me you aren’t thinking about telling her about father,” he said, already preparing himself for an argument. “Because I don’t think I have to tell you all the reasons why that’d be a stupid idea.”

“I was just thinking that it’s been a while and maybe she’d...maybe she’d like to know her father loves her very much.”

“Wait…”

“They were so close when she was little, and if anyone could get through to her--”

“Mother, you can’t--”

“--I’m just saying that Bulla’s a good person! She has a good heart and if she knew what we had to do to keep her safe--”

“ _Mother_ , for fuck’s sake!”

“Hey! You watch your language! I’m still your--”

“Just shut up for one second! My god, can you even hear yourself?!” he was yelling again, only this time he wasn’t able to contain his anger nearly as well as he could before. “This whole situation is so messed up! We shouldn’t even be having this conversation -- we should be going to Lord Frieza to beg for forgiveness! We should hand them over to him and--”

It didn’t hurt when her hand hit his cheek, but it shocked him enough to shut him up. Never in his life had his mother ever hit him, even when he was an unruly child. Yet here they were. Bulma was holding her hand, her bottom lip shaking and her eyes filled with tears. They stood there in silence for a moment, with Trunks trying to work through what just happened. Had he really said those things out loud…?

“How _could you_?” she said, voice shaking. “That’s your father you’re talking about! Your own father! And you would -- you would even think about...!”

Shame bubbled in his chest, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he looked down at the ground. He’d seen his mother in her worst moments, remembered what it was like to see the devastation in her face. But this was different. This was aimed at him, at what he said. What he was thinking about doing.

He was a terrible son.

Bulma stepped forward and placed a hand on the same cheek she’d just slapped, and he tried to turn his head away but her other hand stopped him.

“Trunks, I know you’re scared, but we have to be strong right now,” she said. “That’s just what happens when you’re doing the right thing. I...I won’t tell Bulla. You’re right about that. But you have to trust me when I tell you that we are going to fix everything, and it’ll be alright in the end. I won’t lie -- it’ll be really hard for a while, but it’ll all work out in the end! It always does.”

If he was being honest with himself, Trunks wasn’t sure he believed his mother, in spite of how much she seemed to believe it herself. It seemed impossible what she was saying -- that anyone could ever defeat Frieza, take apart the regime and restore it to...to whatever it was before. She talked about the past so often, but none of it sounded real to him at this point. He only vaguely recalled the things she spoke of at times, and even then they only came back to him in bits and pieces.

There was no way anyone could defeat Frieza. There just wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, mother,” he said. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Trunks, what are you--”

“I won’t tell anyone. But...I won’t fight Frieza. I know where my loyalty belongs. I just wish you did too.”


	5. Vae Victis

If Vegeta had a zeni for every time some insane, ridiculous bullshit thing happened to him, his own personal fortune would surpass his wife’s. As if spending an entire year alone with Kakarot in the hyperbolic time chamber was torturous enough, emerging to find that they had somehow been trapped inside for _twenty goddamn years_ had just added salt to the wound.

Finding out that Frieza had somehow come back to life -- permanently, it seemed -- and had conquered the earth in his absence was something Vegeta hadn’t expected to hear, either. What’s more, the fact that the conqueror had tormented his family for so long sent a shock wave of rage through him that he was, frankly, finding more and more difficult to control even now. Had it not been for Bulma coming to see him, to confirm that she was still alive, still in one piece, still _his wife_ , he’d probably have already stormed the castle by now. Or whatever the hell Frieza was hiding out in.

Although, seeing Bulma had really only helped a little, quelling his fury just enough before giving him more reason to fan the flames. He couldn’t deny that he’d been unwilling to acknowledge the time jump -- seeing an adult Trunks wasn’t especially shocking, considering how often the boy had come back from the future before. But Bulma...his wife had always been beautiful, the same was true even now and he would never think otherwise no matter how old she got or what she did with her hair. He loved her for her and that was that. Yet the reality of time’s passage had written itself on her face, woven itself in her hair, had embedded itself in the way her eyes no longer shone quite as bright…

Anger. Sorrow. Worst of all, _helplessness_. Weakness after weakness hit him when he saw her, held her and felt how soft her skin had gotten. She was still Bulma, still smelled like her, still sounded like her, yet there were so many years that he had missed. Wasn’t it the duty of the husband to be there for the wife?

Not that he’d voiced _any_ of this to anyone, not even to Bulma. He owed it to her to save his strength for Frieza. And then Vegeta would make him pay for what he did to his family.

He’d gone along with Kakarot’s plan to wear a disguise despite how utterly stupid he found it. He questioned the chances of coming across anyone who even knew what they looked like pretty regularly on the flight to West City as he sat in the chair with his arms crossed. Bulma had thoroughly ended the arguing when she told him he was welcome to put his children’s lives on the line if he felt so strongly about it, and...well, he wouldn’t do that. Damn woman knew he wouldn’t, either, because she took the opportunity to gloat about being right.

At least she hadn’t changed _that_ much.

Bulma landed the plane just outside the city to let him and Kakarot out, then leaned out the driver side window and pointed ahead.

“Remember, you can’t fly! You’re going to have to walk the rest of the way, just in case someone asks why a beautiful woman like myself is traveling with a couple of bums.”

“Woman.”

“Just teasing, dear! Here, you’ll need these,” she moved away and then returned and tossed two flat, rectangular devices at them, along with two keycards. “Those keys will get you up to the topside districts, but I can’t get you any further up than that right now. And _that_ is a portable phone that can receive text messages! This way I can talk to you without having to speak out loud, just in case someone overhears me. I’ll let you know where we can meet once I’m done with work. It’ll vibrate when I send you a message, okay? So don’t ignore it! For now, just try to stay out of trouble.”

Vegeta looked down at the little device with suspicion, but shoved it into his pocket anyway. She waved at them as she took off toward the city and the saiyan prince watched after her until her plane was out of sight.

“Well, guess we better start hoofin’ it,” Kakarot said as he started to walk ahead. Vegeta grumbled to himself as he followed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and wrapping his fingers around the strange device.

The two walked for an hour before they caught sight of the city limits, but even from their distance they could see the way it had been transformed. As they got closer, he couldn’t hold back the shock with which he regarded the changes to his former home. It looked so much like Planet 668, if not a bit newer and more humanoid, that Vegeta felt a chill run down his spine. But he wasn’t afraid -- he was furious.

“Bulma really wasn’t kidding, was she?” Kakarot said, his tone far more serious than it had been previously. “This is...this is bad, Vegeta.”

“I know.”

The further into the city they got, the clearer everything became. Remnants of what it had been before Frieza remained toward the ground level, complete with ruined homes that still looked to be in the process of being rebuilt. He recognized so much of it that Vegeta felt like he was walking through a bad dream of some kind, or like he had a bad case of deja vu he couldn’t shake, yet everything here was darker, drearier than he remembered. _The bottom class_.

Thankfully, as they traveled further up through a massive elevator, there came a point where they reached the newer districts, and the differences became more apparent. Newer buildings lined these streets, alien shapes built from earth materials. This particular area seemed to be an entertainment hub of sorts, with bright neon lights and loudspeakers constantly yelling about sales at such and such place, and gambling opportunities were everywhere. Clearly, this was for distraction’s sake, a place where the people could come and drown out the reality of their situation with mindless nonsense so that things didn’t seem so bad. It disgusted Vegeta to see the way people so willingly threw away their freedoms in exchange for some useless trinkets.

At least Kakarot seemed to be enjoying himself, since he kept stopping to admire some of the machines lining the streets.

“This one dispenses hot food with a press of a button,” he said, pointing at it and looking to Vegeta. “Aren’t you at least a little hungry?”

“Why, do _you_ have any zeni on you to pay for that?” Vegeta said, scowling at the ridiculous man. “This isn’t why we’re here, Kakarot, and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know -- but I’m starving,” he said, frowning at the machine. “Sure wish Bulma had given us some food before she left.”

Vegeta scoffed and shook his head. Part of him couldn’t believe how well Kakarot was taking everything, as if none of this was disturbing to him in the least. The other part recognized the look in his eye when he thought no one was looking, and the way he stared down Trunks back at the shelter. Vegeta had felt it too, but...that was another problem for another time.

They made their way to another elevator and found themselves stepping out into an almost too clean looking area. It almost resembled what West City used to look like, with the addition of new structures and much fewer vehicles on the streets. It was still early enough that it wasn’t too crowded yet, but Vegeta could tell this was where the ‘upper class’ people must have lived. He frowned deeply at everything he saw, his jaw clenching as he did his best to maintain his calm.

“Whoa, Vegeta! Take a look at _that_ building!” Kakarot was pointing off in the distance and Vegeta turned to look, eyes widening slightly as he caught sight of it. The building itself was incredibly tall, reaching up further up than any other structure around. On its front was a massive circular screen with bright lights and flashes of color dancing across it, loud, peppy music playing from speakers he couldn’t quite figure out the location of. And then, he saw it.

 _That face_.

A girl’s face was on the screen, bright blue eyes and long pink hair. She was singing, though he wasn’t paying much attention to the words considering how focused he was on her face. She was moving around so much he was having a hard time actually seeing it, and then -- there! The dancing stopped a moment and she was singing directly at the camera now. Something about it seemed so familiar, and yet…

Wait. _Wait!_

“Bulla?!” Vegeta said, the shock of realization hitting him in an instant. There was no mistaking it -- that was Bulla. It had to be, otherwise he’d have to accept that there was another woman out there who looked nearly identical to his wife. But why did she have pink hair? That didn’t make any damn sense to him. The words “saiyan princess” flashed across the screen, with bright colors and _mockery_ written all over it, and he felt his fingers digging into his palms.

“What?! Is that really her?” Kakarot nearly matched Vegeta’s shock as he stared at the screen. “The last time I saw her, she was just a baby! Holy cow, time really has passed, look how grown up she is!”

If he hadn’t been so distracted, Vegeta might have taken a moment to yell at Kakarot. Or hit him. He wasn’t entirely sure which one he was leaning toward. But he didn’t get a chance to even consider it before his daughter’s face disappeared from the screen and was replaced by large flashing red letters that read BREAKING NEWS.

A man with dark green skin and black hair appeared in her place, sitting neatly in a suit and tie, which he had been adjusting when the camera turned on to him.

“Breaking news coming into us from West City Patrol Station where we’ve received reports that a group of terrorists have been caught just outside the city. Our reports say that among those captured was Captain Char, formerly of Lord Frieza’s Honor Guard, who appears to have betrayed us all by attempting to help those same rebels. Lord Frieza has demanded the immediate execution of the traitor, which will take place exactly one hour from now in the Earth Republic’s courtyard. Lord Frieza invites you to bear witness to his wrath.”

The video looped again before Vegeta turned his attention back to Kakarot, who returned his hardened gaze with a determined nod. This was what Bulma had told them about, why Trunks had seemed so shaken when he spoke to them. Even so, he wasn’t as shocked by it as Kakarot seemed to be. For Vegeta, it was just as he’d remembered it from his youth -- the planets Frieza conquered were either completely decimated or put to use, and it seemed he’d opted to use earth as the seat of his new empire.

_Well, that wasn’t going to last long, was it?_

Seeing his daughter’s face did something to Vegeta, though he wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, not even himself. He and Kakarot followed the crowds that seemed to be moving in the direction where the execution was set to place, all the while Vegeta fought to ignore the dull ache in his chest. He chose to focus on everything else that was happening around them instead, watching the way people talked to one another so casually, as if they were just going to see a movie and not someone’s death. Once upon a time, he was just like them. Now, it sort of...disturbed him.

 _Ugh_. He really was domesticated. Damn woman.

Both he and Kakarot found themselves being corralled into specific sections of the seating area, somewhere further back than Vegeta would have liked, if only for a chance to see everything and get a read on just what they were dealing with.

“I can’t believe how many people are here,” Kakarot whispered. “All just to watch someone die.”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to brainwash an entire planet,” Vegeta said, glaring around at the audience as they chatted away merrily. “Not that you’d have the slightest idea of where to begin.”

“Not sure I’d _want_ to have an idea, Geets.”

“Do _not_ call me that.”

“Oh, right, sorry -- Joe.”

_Damn woman!_

They didn’t have to wait too long for the ‘ceremony’ to start. Perfect lines of soldiers began their march down the center of the long entry way of the courtyard, and Vegeta took note of how far up Trunks was positioned compared to the rest of the Armored Forces, his eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of his son marching in Frieza’s name. Vegeta and Kakarot clapped only to blend in, but neither could bring themselves to cheer. It was all just a little too disturbing to really sell any enthusiasm for.

As the soldiers marched toward the center where a raised platform sat, Vegeta caught sight of new lines of people making their way from small side entrances by the large, grand door in the center. He glowered at what he recognized to be commanders in the army, flashes of memories to a time when he was under the command of Ginyu and his ridiculous bunch. These men were decidedly different, however -- they appeared far more serious, far more dangerous, and he could sense their power was far more immense than all of the Ginyu Force combined.

Following after them were two lines of people, all dressed in white and adorned with purple decor, fitting tributes to their _precious ruler_ of course, but the second Vegeta’s eyes fell on Bulla’s form, he nearly lost it.

To see his own child -- _his little girl_ \-- dressed up like a doll in Frieza’s image filled him with so much unbridled rage that he felt he might just put an end to this entire charade and go after Frieza right then and there. She was of royal blood, a princess to a proud race, and there she was was all wrapped up in Frieza’s colors -- the one who destroyed her heritage. It was the deepest insult to his people, to his pride, and just as he began to move he felt a strong hand grab at his arm roughly.

“ _No_ \-- remember what you promised.” Kakarot said in a hushed but stern tone. “If you do anything now, it’s going to get a lot of people hurt.”

“That’s my daughter, Kakarot,” Vegeta growled, his jaw clenched so tightly that he barely managed to get the words out. “How can I sit here and watch this while he disgraces our people like this?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll get them killed.”

Vegeta was shaking, his teeth clamped shut so tightly that he couldn’t even respond. All he wanted to do was find Frieza and end him where he stood -- immortal or not, Vegeta was going to rip him apart limb from limb and throw the pieces away. If Kakarot hadn’t such a strong hold on him, he may have taken off by now.

“Vegeta, calm down!” Kakarot’s voice was barely able to pierce through his murderous thoughts. “Now’s not the time -- not with Trunks and Bulla right there. They could get hurt, or killed!”

Kakarot stopped short and wavered a second before reaching down and digging out the little device Bulma had given him.

“Wait, it’s Bulma -- she sent me a message,” he said, shaking Vegeta’s arm roughly. It only seemed to irritate him further, but it was enough to distract him momentarily -- though he still couldn’t tear his gaze away from his daughter.

“Well?! What does it say? It had better be good!” he said, impatiently.

“It says...that she plans to meet with Trunks later. She wants to meet us after that,” he said. “She’s going to meet us at some clothing store down a level.”

Vegeta scoffed, then paused when he felt the vibration from his the device in his pocket. He hesitated a moment before he managed to tear his eyes away from Bulla, angrily pulling it out and staring at the tiny words across the screen.

_'Please control yourself. They need you.'_

He gripped it tighter in his fist. Kakarot must have said something to her, or maybe she just knew how he’d react when he realized his daughter was put on display like a trophy designed specifically to mock him and the memory of his people. But he knew she was right, no matter how much he wished he could ignore it.

_I didn’t fight to keep my babies alive for twenty years only for you to go and get them killed for your own vanity, Vegeta!_

The sound of a ki blast going off caused him to look up in time to see the young man get blasted into oblivion. Vegeta’s mouth twitched as the crowd erupted into a roar of cheer and applause, his eyes searching the soldiers below until he found his son staring straight ahead. Like a dutiful soldier should.

It made him sick to see it.

“Come on,” Kakarot said, nudging Vegeta’s shoulder. “We better get outta here.”

Vegeta gave a curt nod and shot one last look back toward the center of the courtyard, just in time to watch Bulla disappear through the same door she’d come out of. His eyes lingered there a moment as his lips formed into a deep frown, his brows furrowed. That dull ache was there again, only now that he’d had a chance to see her in person and still could do nothing to save her, it was far more difficult to ignore.

They’d been waiting at the store Bulma told them to be at for well over an hour before Vegeta started to get worried. His wife had always been an incredibly capable person, able to take care of herself in most every situation she was put in. Hell, it was one of the reasons he’d married her in the first place. But this was completely different from all those other times -- this entire world was under Frieza’s control. He had spies on the other planets he’d conquered, so it would be naive to assume that wasn’t the case here. Maybe those devices she gave them weren’t as secure as she’d led them to believe. Or maybe someone had followed her, or overheard her. She wasn’t careless, but she had a habit of underestimating most dangers.

Damn woman.

He was in the throes of his own imagination when he felt her approach. Kakarot seemed to have felt it too because he stood a little straighter and gave Vegeta a quick nod. The two moved into a nearby alleyway as soon as she spotted them, then waited for her to catch up.

“Sorry it took so long,” she said. There was something strange about her voice that caught his attention, and he scrutinized her for a moment. Her cheeks and eyes were red, as if she’d been crying, and Vegeta had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep himself from getting angry all over again.

“What happened?” he said, stepping toward her protectively.

“It’s…” she began, but stopped when her lip quivered. “It’s Trunks.”

Vegeta’s stomach dropped, immediately fearing the worst. Bulma shook her head.

“He doesn’t want to fight with us. He said...he said his loyalties are with Frieza.”

“ _What_?” Vegeta and Kakarot both said at the same time, both just as dumbfounded as the other.

“How -- explain, woman. What do you mean his _loyalties_ are with Frieza?” Vegeta demanded.

“You don’t understand what it’s been like, Vegeta,” she said with a sniffle. “When they took Trunks and Bulla from me, I had no idea what was going to happen. I didn’t see them for _years_. They were nearly adults by the time I was allowed! Frieza -- this life -- it’s all they’ve known. Trunks barely remembers what it was like before, and Bulla?”

Bulma let out a bitter laugh, followed quickly by a small sob she only barely managed to suck down.

Vegeta could hardly believe what his wife was telling him. Kakarot started talking then, but he couldn’t hear him. He was too focused on the rage building inside him so violently that it felt like he might explode. His daughter was being used as a prop to mock his people, and now his _son_ was choosing to side with Frieza over his own family. Vegeta’s own flesh and blood was choosing the very being who massacred their people over their _goddamn family_.

No.

 _No_.

No, now Vegeta had reached a new level of fury. It was an unyielding rage that spun out of control inside of him, yet on the outside he showed absolutely no sign of it. His expression remained neutral -- well, neutral by his standards anyway, so...one of casual anger -- which was partly why neither Kakarot nor Bulma seemed to notice when he turned and began walking further into the alleyway.

“Hey! Wait, where are you going?” Bulma called out after him as soon as she realized he was leaving.

“I’m going to _kill him_.”

And with that, Vegeta took off in a flash, far faster than either Kakarot or Bulma had anticipated. Any pretense he had with walking around in a silly disguise, trying to hide from some unseen enemies around every corner, were completely gone. For now, he only had one goal in mind, and he’d be damned if he let his wife or that damn buffoon try to talk him out of it this time.


	6. Trouble Will Find Me

He should’ve known better than to think his mother wouldn’t argue with him. She wouldn’t even let him leave her office, opting instead to grab his arm and try to keep him in place. While it would’ve been nothing for him to just push her away, he refrained from doing so if only to spare her any more pain. But he also wasn’t going to back down, and made it very clear that he had no intention of changing his mind about his choices.

“Trunks, you can’t do this!” she pleaded. “Please, you have to trust me! Trust your father!”

“I’ve made up my mind, mother,” he said, gently as he could. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Boy, was that about as helpful as trying to block a ki blast with a tissue. She cried and yelled at him and started trying to bargain with him, like his loyalty could be purchased with tears and guilt. He remained unwavering. He wouldn’t change his mind. And he left her to cry at her desk.

When he’d returned to the barracks, he found Pasley had already begun training without him, working through a set of moves with a younger recruit named Ila. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen, with dark purple hair and black eyes. Pasley had her teal hair in a braid that wrapped down the side of her head and hung off her shoulder, her warm brown skin contrasting the white and purple training clothes she wore. The two women sparred among the other trainees, both adept at blocking and counter the other’s moves, but ultimately it was Pasley who took the win with a swift and brutal kick to the face.

“Ouch! That hurt!” Ila cried, bringing a hand to her jaw. She was sitting on the floor, gingerly holding her face and fighting back tears. Pasley crossed her arms and a stern look took over her features.

“Don’t cry! You think your enemies will surrender out of pity?” she said, harshly. “Come on — get up!”

Ila sat still a moment, staring hard at the ground in front of her, when Pasley sighed and held out her hand. The younger took it and Pasley easily pulled her to her feet, but yanked her close to whisper something in her ear. Whatever she said made Ila’s eyes go wide and she quickly scrambled over a thank you and excused herself, retreating to the locker room. Trunks took the opportunity to approach his partner then, his hands sitting in his pockets.

“What’d you say?” he asked. Pasley glanced over her shoulder at him as she grabbed her water bottle and took a long drink from it, then offered it out to Trunks.

“I told her Lord Frieza didn’t appreciate weakness and everyone here was just dying for the chance to rat a weakling out,” she said with a casual shrug. Trunks shook his head and took the water, letting himself savor how refreshing it was.

“You’re cruel,” he said.

“You’re just mad you didn’t get a chance to tell her that yourself,” she replied, then began gathering her things in her bag. “Come on. I’d rather we go somewhere less sweaty to train.”

“We're gonna get sweaty no matter where we go,” he said, then paused. “That...that sounded different in my head.”

“If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a hundred times, Briefs,” she said, grinning. “You have to buy me dinner first.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“Sure you didn’t.”

He did his best to ignore how hot his cheeks felt, opting instead to follow her out the door.

Whenever she got in the mood to train away from the others, he could always count on one thing: her ability to find the most obscure, out of the way hidey holes imaginable. Now wasn’t much different — she’d led them both to a section of the lower city that had been under construction for years now, and showed no signs of being finished anytime soon.

“I chased out some squatters on last week’s solo patrol,” she said, gesturing to the ruined houses. “Why anyone would want to live here is beyond me.”

“No rent.”

“Hm. Good point. Wanna pick a house and we’ll live here instead?”

Trunks wrinkled his nose; the place still reeked of death and pollution from the rest of the lower city.

“Think I’ll pass, thanks,” he said.

“Suit yourself, pretty boy.”

Pasley walked ahead of him before she turned and settled into a fighting stance, a smirk dancing on her lips. Trunks watched her a moment before settling into his own stance. But before either of them could move, they were both distracted by a sound...one that was quickly approaching them.

“What the hell is—“

He didn’t hear the rest of what Pasley said before he was quite suddenly launched across the street, a shock of pain from both a knee in his side and the concrete building he collided with. Stunned, his eyes came into focus in time to see Pasley throwing punches at a blur before being knocked back — unlike him, though, she had no saiyan blood to dull the impact, and she fell into a crumpled pile, completely unconscious.

“Pasley!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and immediately moving into a fighting stance, his eyes searching the empty area for any sign of what had just attacked him.

“Pathetic! You should have seen that coming and known how to counter it!”

Wait a second…

“ _Father_?!”

The man was hovering several feet above him, his arms crossed and his face partially obscured by...something. But there was no mistaking that voice, or that stance. It sure was his dad alright, though Trunks found his appearance confusing. Was that a fake beard? Oh kami...mother really wasn’t kidding about the disguises. He looked ridiculous.

“Are you sure you’ve really been  _training_?” Vegeta said, mockingly. “A true warrior knows to never let his guard down, not even for an instant!”

“Why are you here?!” Trunks yelled. “You’re going to get mother killed!”

“Oh, she’s why I’m here, boy,” Vegeta said. He dropped himself to the ground in front of Trunks, and now that the young man could see his face more clearly than before, he could see the imprints of rage embedded in his features. Out of instinct, he took a defensive stance and returned the look with his own defiant one.

“You can’t seriously want to fight me right now,” Trunks said. “Someone’s going to sense our power levels.”

“Well, then,” Vegeta said, smirking. “I’ll hide mine if you hide yours.”

Trunks watched his father for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he tried to get a read on him. He couldn’t believe he was being serious about this — it was too risky. He glanced over at Pasley long enough to confirm she was still breathing, then looked back to his father. If they were caught, if they took things too far or slipped up and drop any pretense of hiding their power levels, it’d certainly lead to things far worse than death. But the look on Vegeta’s face made it clear that backing down wasn’t an option. He wasn’t just here to mock him or have a chat — he was actually here to fight.

“Fine,” Trunks said. “But I’m not gonna go easy on you, old man.”

“Neither will I, _boy_.”

Trunks made the first move, launching himself forward ready to swing a punch at Vegeta’s face. The man only dodged it, and the subsequent swings, weaving left and right and ducking at just the right moment. It was as if Vegeta knew where he was aiming before he did, and Trunks grew frustrated and changed up the pace. He jumped back and swung his left leg around, then quickly turned and swung the other when his father caught both. Trunks didn’t have a chance to react before Vegeta swung him around and threw him back into a piece of ruined wall.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Vegeta said, sounding vaguely disappointed. “I’m already  _bored_.”

The younger man let out a frustrated growl and threw the rubble off himself, once more launching himself directly at Vegeta, only for the other man to jump aside and grab him by the back of his shirt. Trunks used the shortstop to his advantage, leaning forward, twisting then raising his right leg up to kick the side of Vegeta’s head. He wasn’t allowed much time to celebrate getting a hit in. Vegeta scoffed and once more tossed Trunks aside, this time into the middle of the road. As Trunks regained his balance, he looked back to find his father once again crossed his arms, glaring at him from where he stood.

“I thought you wanted a fight!” Trunks said.

“I do.”

“So why aren’t you fighting back?”

“You’re not giving me much to work with.”

 _Oh, well, fuck you too._ Trunks felt anger blossoming in his chest and he balled his fists. As if to mock him further, Vegeta smirked and turned his head away, nodding to Pasley’s unconscious form.

“She gave me more of a fight than you have, and she’s just a human.”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

He very nearly lost it, stopping himself in time to keep his power level from going out of control. In place of giving into that temptation, Trunks once more launched himself at Vegeta, then suddenly changed course before either could come into contact. He took advantage of Vegeta’s surprise and moved into the air above his father, and came crashing down with a feral yell. His elbow collided with Vegeta’s forearm, which blocked Trunks from his intended target (read: his father’s smug face) and the pair pushed against the other for a moment before Vegeta’s other hand shot forward and punched Trunks in the chest.

With the wind knocked out of him, Vegeta took the opportunity to pull Trunks back down to the ground and land another punch, this one against his son’s jaw. Being momentarily dazed did Trunks no favors as his father continued a savage barrage of hits, giving him no time to recover. His upper arm, the other side of his jaw, the back of his head,  _both_ his sides, and the back of his knees — all of them were going to be very sore for a long time, he was sure of it. He managed the occasional swing only to be scoffed at and his efforts thrown back into his face, accompanied with a fist.

By the time Vegeta had stopped, Trunks felt like he’d been through two bouts of training with Captain Almone herself. And yet…

His father wasn’t even taking this seriously. He wasn’t even really  _trying_. Was Trunks really that weak? Or was his father really that much stronger?

“I’m disappointed in you,” Vegeta said, bitterly. “I’d have thought you of all people would still be capable of a good fight, yet you couldn’t even do that. Pathetic.”

Trunks yelled out in frustration and turned to swing at Vegeta blindly, which only resulted in a knee to his gut. The pain was enough to knock him down to his knees as he wrapped both arms around his middle, wondering for a moment if his stomach had actually been kicked up to his throat. He coughed to confirm he still had functioning lungs.

“W-why are you—?” he said, struggling to find enough breath to speak. He hadn’t felt this kind of pain since the training room back on Frieza’s ship, when he was young. When he was still so needlessly defiant that it took months of daily training sessions to make him comply. His bones hurt worse than any pain his muscles felt now just thinking about those days.

“You know why,” Vegeta growled.

“I-I didn’t—”

“You made your mother cry.”

Trunks paused. Was his father being serious?

“ _No one_ hurts my Bulma.”

Oh shit. He was being serious.

“You’ve...you’ve got to be k-kid—“

Vegeta reached down and grabbed the back of Trunks’ shirt again, viciously yanking him to his feet. Trunks just barely managed to hold back a yelp, biting down on his tongue to do so as his father jerked him back to look him in the eye.

“Especially not my own blood.”

Trunks stared at Vegeta for a moment as he began to slowly regain his strength. The sound of Pasley stirring grabbed both men’s attention, with Trunks tearing his gaze away from his father to look at her as she struggled getting to her hands and knees. Vegeta regained his focus by pulling him closer and lowering his voice just above a quiet growl.

“Come find me when you decide to stop being a scared child and fight alongside your  _f_ _amily_ ,” he said before releasing Trunks. “Your _loyalty_ to your own blood should come before anything else.”

With that, the man turned and took off, disappearing into the haze of thick smog. Trunks stared after him a moment before wincing and grasping at his stomach again, though it was difficult to tell if it was just pain he felt in his gut...or something else.

“What the hell happened, Trunks?” Pasley asked for probably the third time in the last half hour. Since she regained consciousness, the pair had been resting on a ruined bench. Trunks could feel bruises forming on his skin, and wasn’t overly surprised to find his lip was swollen and bleeding. Pasley herself was relatively unscathed, though the headache she got from the blow was making her far more agitated than she normally was. Trunks still didn’t answer her, choosing to close his eyes and lean his head back.

“ _Trunks_ ,” she said again, reaching up to snap her fingers in front of his face.

“Not dead,” he murmured. He still found it painful to speak, his chest still sore from beating he’d taken.

“You’re about to be if you don’t tell me what happened,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Too tired to die.”

“Hey, dumbass, I’m being serious here! Whatever — whoever — that was took us both down! We have to report it.”

“No.”

“Trunks, we have _to_ —“

“If we report it, we’ll be sent for additional training,” he said, sitting a little straighter and wincing for his efforts. “He’s not gonna come back, anyway.” _Maybe_ that was true. Honestly, Trunks didn’t know, and he wasn’t surprised when Pasley didn’t believe him.

“Maybe we need the training,” she said. “If that was one of the terrorists, then we should take care of it now.”

“Wasn’t a terrorist.”

“How do you know?”

“Met ‘im before.”

“Where?”

“Long time ago.”

“I said where, not when.”

Trunks shook his head. Pasley stared at him

and then gave a loud huff when he didn’t elaborate, her eyes narrowing as she regarded him with suspicion.

“Stop keeping secrets from me, Briefs,” she hissed. “You know I hate secrets.”

“Secrets keep our relationship fresh,” he said, feeling too light-headed to argue. “If we get sent for training, we won’t be around to enjoy the fight.”

“You just said that wasn’t a terrorist,” she said.

“Doesn’t mean there won’t be a fight.”

Pasley scrutinized him for a moment, her eyes traveling over the bruises and cuts on his face. He met her gaze with pleading eyes, his head shaking just slightly. They sat there for what felt like hours before she dropped her gaze, her eyes closing as she nodded.

“Fine. But only because I want to take credit for busting up that pretty boy face.”

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have agreed to let her take credit. The second they got back to the barracks he was assaulted with a variety of jokes, while Pasley was congratulated on her ability to knock him down a few pegs. Then came the challenges, wherein soldiers approached both him and Pasley, though his challenges seemed to take the form of “I wanna kick your ass too” while hers were squarely in the “teach me senpai” category.

It didn’t _really_ bother him, though, if he was being honest. Pasley had always been a strong and capable fighter, far better than most people assumed at first glance. If the confrontation with his father was good for anything, at the very least it was helping her get the recognition she deserved.

No one seemed to care that she must have had a massive jump in power to do so much damage to a half-saiyan, at least until he’d reluctantly agreed to see the med bay to treat some of his injuries. Dr. Savo knew better, and was adamant in her belief that Pasley couldn’t have possibly caused so much damage unless Trunks had deliberately allowed her to. Trunks kept to his story in spite of her insistence, which only served to irritate her enough to keep her from being gentle with her treatment.

Trunks spent the rest of the day lost in his own thoughts. Even through dinner he remained trapped in his mind, replaying the entire fight and his father’s words as he tore through several bowls and plates with complete disinterest.

“Lost in space?”

He looked up from his last bowl of yam noodles to find Pasley standing there, her arms crossed and the corner of her mouth turned upward.

“You know me,” he said with a shrug. Pasley sat down next to him and leaned back, turning her head so that she could look at him.

“As much as I like all the new nicknames you’re getting, I’m still not sure this was a good idea,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “What if that guy comes back for round two?”

“He won’t,” Trunks said. “He did what he needed to do.”

“Sounds like you know him pretty well.”

“Not really.”

“The mysterious loner boy act doesn’t work on me, you know.” She brushed her teal hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear in irritation.

“I’m not trying to do that,” he said, shaking his head. “I just…”

“Yeah, yeah. You can’t tell me,” she said with a huff. She stood up and looked down at him. “You’re gonna have to sometime, though. We’re supposed to be partners.”

Trunks watched her a moment before he gave a small nod. “I know. Just not yet.”

Pasley walked away and right into a pair of recruits who pointedly back at him enthusiastically before launching into a series of questions for her. He left while she was distracted, making his way back to his room without incident and reveled in the quiet that isolation offered him.

All at once he felt more exhausted than he had been in a long time, and he collapsed into his bed like a rock in a pond. Though while his body was tired, his mind was very much awake — still looping what his father had said for hours until he finally began to drift off. But as he let himself sink into the comfort of sleep, the aching in his bones returned, and he knew that despite what his mother believed, neither his father or even Goku, could compare to how powerful Lord Frieza had become. He knew better than to think otherwise, his repeated to him again. No matter, Trunks always knew where his true loyalty would always belong.


	7. Greatness, I'm Alive

Life was rough, and it was hard, and it was kind of...well, it wasn’t _super great_. But it wasn’t all bad either. Goten had been lucky to have such a strong mother for all these years, even if she did sometimes get a little too dedicated. Losing his father had been pretty hard the first time, but if he was honest, it wasn’t all that bad. Even as they were fighting back against Frieza and his armies, he hadn’t lost hope that they’d be able to make it just fine.

Losing Gohan, though...

That was the first wake up call. Videl and poor little Pan were next, and Goten had just barely managed to escape with his mom and the Briefs family. He often thought fondly back to the days when he and Trunks would come up with elaborate schemes to take on Frieza as Gotenks, all the while knowing that even that wouldn’t be enough to stop the murderous alien. Not that their mothers would let them try. Not after what happened to Gohan.

Of course, things changed. He and his mom had to separate from the group in hopes that Frieza was too busy targeting them out of his hatred for Goku, but no such luck — they found out about Bulla and Trunks later on after Bulma had managed to get in contact with Chi-Chi, but it was because of her messages that they were eventually caught. Goten didn’t blame Bulma for it, though he could tell his mom still resented her, despite Krillin’s best efforts to assure her that Bulma hadn’t meant any harm. Over the years, it became apparent that Chi-Chi no longer really trusted Bulma, especially when they received word that Trunks was enlisted in the Armored Forces and Bulla had become a full-fledged “high-ranking elite” member. So he supposed it made sense that even after twenty-something years, Chi-Chi had only maintained only a half-genuine friendship with Bulma from afar, letting the scientist think they were still enslaved in Satan City.

In truth, they hadn’t been near Satan City in years, not since they had managed to escape with Krillin. They’d been on the run now for about seven or eight years, unable to stay in one place for very long. Running wasn’t _all_ they were doing, though — they stopped and did what they could to help the non-city dwellers fight back against the occasional Frieza Force attack, and Goten had managed to wipe out his fair share of soldiers each time. Chi-Chi had been completely against the idea at first, but gave up when she realized Goten was too much like his father and brother to just sit back and let people suffer needlessly. He, Krillin, and a group of other like-minded fighters had banded together and earned a reputation for themselves, working hard to undermine Frieza any way they could. It was dangerous, and Goten had watched several friends die for it. But it was the right thing to do.

His mom did her part, too. As soon as she had a chance to properly grieve for her family, it was as if she’d had a fire lit inside her. She was right back to training Goten every day, far more brutally than she ever had before, and worked alongside him in the villages they came across. She mostly helped the people out with the basic necessities — food, clothing, child care — but hadn’t shied away from the fighting either. She didn’t have as many rules for Goten as she used to, but she did have one: never get too close to a city.

Goten kept that promise close to his heart, knowing full well why she’d want to keep him as far away as possible. Fighting the grunts that came to them was one thing, but going after a fight was a totally different beast entirely. Especially going after a fight that might end with Frieza showing up.

For the moment, they were staying with villagers near the ruins of North City, the settlement partially hidden between two mountains. They hadn’t been there long when Goten first felt something strange in the back of his mind, like a low hum of...of _something_ that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. At first he thought it was his imagination, because it suddenly disappeared for a whole day before it randomly came back again in the middle of the night.

“Huh...that’s weird,” he muttered to himself as he pulled his jacket on in the morning. “Wonder what it could be.”

He didn’t have time to dwell on it for long, though. It was his turn to go on for a hunt and take a quick sweep of the area, in case any of Frieza’s men showed up. Usually he was with Krillin, or another member of the group but today he was accompanied by Seeda, one of the Remainers -- a cheeky name their group had been given by the second village they’d saved since getting together.

Seeda wasn’t a tall woman, but what she lacked in height she more than made up for with a fiercesome nature. In fact, practically everything about her seemed to scream ‘please underestimate me.’ Her black hair was tied back with a pretty blue ribbon, with a few strands left out to frame her kind looking face, and her brown eyes seemed to shine in the sunlight. She always wore soft colors, too -- blue was her favorite color, but yellow seemed to come in a close second. Not that Goten noticed that kind of stuff.

Thing was, Seeda reminded him a lot of his mother in so many ways, yet at the same time was so very different. When they first met, she was soft and gentle, and she treated everyone with just as much respect as she was given. But like his mother, she’d lost a husband and child to Frieza, though it had happened far more recently for her, and it weighed down on her every day. In the two years that he’d known her, he could have sworn that sometimes it seemed like she wanted to join them. In the end, her dedication to their group always won out, and Goten was able to push aside the thought for another day.

They were on their way back from a hunt, Goten carrying two warthogs over both shoulders and trailing behind Seeda. As they got closer to the village, Goten could see his mother approaching them and his face broke out into a large smile when he saw her waving them down.

“Hey, mom!” he called out, raising one hand to wave back before having to quickly catch the warthog as it nearly slid off his shoulder. “Oops! Almost dropped it.”

“I’m sure it would’ve been fine if you had,” Seeda offered, glancing back at him as she walked.

“Goooooteeeen!” Chi-Chi was yelling, hand still waving in their direction. “Goten, hurry! It’s an emergency!”

An emergency? Goten broke into a run at the word, dropping the warthogs off with the butcher that was quite luckily right next to where Chi-Chi was standing. She was breathing hard, her face flush from running to meet him, but the second his arms were free she motioned for him to follow her and ran back toward the collection of tents the Remainers had setup on the other side of the village. Seeda caught up with the pair of them just as they reached the large orange tent in the center, where Krillin was waiting for him. He turned to look up at Goten, his expression twisted into one of shock and dismay.

“It’s real bad, Goten,” he said, his voice shaking. “Char’s...Char’s dead!”

“What?!” Goten said, taking a step back. “How -- when?!”

“This morning. We just got the news from our friend in West City,” he looked down at the ground and clenched his fists. “He was ambushed trying to pass along some vital information about city access points. The...the others didn’t make it either.”

Goten stared at Krillin in disbelief, trying to wrap his head around it all. Char was a good man, the only one of Frieza’s men who didn’t try to kill himself when he was captured. After only a few days of being in their company, he came to see exactly what was happening to people outside the city and agreed to help them. For over a year he’d been such a huge part of the Remainers, even from how far away he was. He’d reminded Goten a little of Videl with how determined he was to prove himself, and he had been so close to Marron that he started to include updates about her for Krillin. Knowing that he was gone now was a difficult pill to swallow. It was like losing another member of the family all over again.

“He was a good man,” Seeda said, sadly. She bowed her head for a moment and then looked to Krillin. “What do we do now?”

“I guess we have no choice but to start over,” he said. “Oh, man...this is going to be even more difficult without him. Especially now that they know what information we were looking for.”

“Maybe we can find another contact,” she suggested, though she didn’t sound nearly as convinced of herself as she perhaps wanted. “Or we can ask our friend inside for the information.”

Krillin shook his head. “No can do. Our friend explicitly said that Frieza’s gonna double down on those checks from now on. It’s way too dangerous for them to send it to us electronically.”

“What about in person?” Goten said. Both Seeda and Krillin looked at him, surprised. “I mean, that’s what the others were there to pick up, right? What if we arranged another pick up?”

“Well, sure, but who knows how long it’ll be before they relax long enough to go back. They’ll have the whole surrounding area on lockdown,” Krillin said, rubbing the back of his head as he thought. “We might have to wait a couple years to try again.”

“But...what if we _didn’t_?” Goten said. “What I’m saying is, what if we went right away? They’d never expect that.”

“That’s because it’d be foolish,” Seeda chided. “Suicidal, even.”

“Didn’t you hear me? The entire area’ll be totally swarmed with those guys!” Krillin shook his head again. “No way we’d be able to find a spot close enough to the city for our informant to get us that info.”

A hush fell over the group as they considered their options, Goten weighing all of the possibilities in his head for a moment. That low hum was there again, this time he could tell it was coming from somewhere to the south-west...somewhere pretty close to West City, actually.

“Why don’t we just...go into the city? Or I could go by myself. It’d be a heck of a lot easier to sneak around if it’s just one person, right?”

Both Seeda and Krillin fell silent, both eyes locked onto Goten for a moment before they slowly turned their attention to the entryway beside him in unison. Goten didn’t really need to think too hard about what they could possibly be looking at...mostly because Chi-Chi made it _very clear_ that she was still present when she grabbed hold of his ear and yanked him down to her eye level.

“Now you listen here, young man! No way you’re going into that city! Of all the bad ideas I’ve heard that’s easily the worst one!” she yelled as Goten struggled against her hold. She might not have been a saiyan but boy was she strong when she wanted to be.

“B-but mom, it might be the only way!”

“We’ll just have to find another way! Won’t you, Krillin?!”

Krillin held his hands up defensively and nodded rapidly. “Y-yeah, of course! N-no problem, Chi-Chi!”

“Mom, come on -- _OW!_ This is really important!”

“Are you _trying_ to kill your poor mother?! Oh, how cruel of you! After all I’ve done for you all these years! Raised an ingrate, that’s what I did!”

“Mom, pleaaaaaase!”

“You are NOT going anywhere near that city, do you hear me?!”

“Okay, okay! Jeez!”

Goten was a good son. He listened to his mother, he did what she asked without question, and he worked extra hard to make sure she knew how much he appreciated her. She deserved it -- and more! -- after everything she’d gone through. Heck, the stories he’d heard about the time before he was born, when it was just her and Gohan with dad randomly popping in and out of their lives between different crises...it really made him admire her.

It was for those reasons that Goten was having a hard time ignoring just how guilty he felt sneaking out of his tent that night, with an incredibly nervous Krillin trailing close behind him.

“You know, sneaking off like this without saying goodbye might not be the best idea,” Krillin whispered, anxiously looking over his shoulder. “Maybe you should wait until morning and see if Chi-Chi changed her mind!”

“Come on, Krillin, you know that’s not gonna happen,” Goten said quietly. “Besides, this is really important. We can’t keep waiting for the right moment -- we’ve _been_ waiting and things just keep getting worse.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said with a sigh. “I’d better come with you in that case.”

Goten stopped and looked back at him, surprised. “Wait -- really?”

“Why not? It’s been a long time since I’ve almost died anyway, right?” Krillin said, laughing at a joke Goten wasn’t sure he understood. “Eh...nevermind.”

It was quiet for a few seconds before Goten let out a little laugh and nodded excitedly. “Yeah! It’ll be great!”

“It’ll be just like the old days!”

“Right! We can totally handle this on our own!”

“Not if your idea of sneaking is being so loud.”

Both men frozen abruptly, waiting for the inevitable Chi-Chi explosion that was surely about to go off, until they realized it was Seeda speaking to them. She was leaning against a nearby tree, her eyebrows raised slightly as she watched them.

“This won’t do at all,” she said.

“Please don’t tell my mom.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Because I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, thanks, you’re a real life sa--wait, you are?”

“Of course I am. You two can’t be trusted not to get too excited and blow it.”

“Hey!” Krillin said, sounding offended. “We can handle it.”

“You’re supposed to be the responsible elder in this situation,” she said, pushing away from the tree and approaching them. “Though since you aren’t, I have no choice but to join.”

“But you’re not that old,” Goten said.

“And _I’m_ not that old!” Krillin added, though neither of them seemed to hear him.

The three continued to gather their things in silence, each one carefully packing as much as they could into their individual bags. Gohan was careful to move as silently as he imagined a ghost would, stuffing only a couple articles of clothing into the pack before exiting the tent and making his way to the food stores. Part of him was tempted to take the entire thing with him, but that wasn’t fair to the rest of the Remainers, so he only took what he thought might hold them over for a little while. At the very least, they could hunt on the way, and once they got to the city he could see about trying some of that infamous city food.

Seeda joined him in packing up some food, though she seemed to take more care in what she chose, opting to take more fruits and vegetables than anything else. She glanced up toward the sky, then around at the other tents. “We’d better get going before your mother wakes up and catches us all conspiring against her wishes.”

“You’re right,” Goten said. “Let’s go, then. If we fly, we can probably make it there in just a--”

“I can’t fly.”

“Oh,” Goten stopped short, then put a hand to his chin and thought for a moment. “Hmm...well, I could carry you?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. And besides, we’d probably get caught if we flew.”

“You really think so? Aw, man. It’ll take forever to get there if we have to walk.”

“We don’t have to walk, either.”

“What do you mean?” Then it hit him, and he suddenly felt quite stupid. “Oh! We could drive!”

“Try to keep it down, please,” Krillin said, sounding a bit panicked.

“Oh, right! Sorry.” Goten nodded seriously at him. “We could drive!” He said again, only this time he whispered. Both Krillin and Seeda sighed wearily.

“Just like your old man sometimes,” the older man said. “Come on, let’s get outta here before get in real trouble.”


	8. Videre Licet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Explicit sexual content inbound.

In his defense, Vegeta never claimed to be the best at _conversations_. He’d certainly never been very good at conversing with his son, preferring instead to let his actions speak for him, which was why he’d decided to engage Trunks in a little training session instead of trying to talk some sense into him. In his mind, if the boy was so stubbornly set on being against them, then no amount of talk would change that. Yet the degree in which he seemed so set was odd to Vegeta. And what’s more, something was _off_ about his son. He’d noticed it back at the shelter, at the same time he noticed Kakarot staring at him so intensely, and now that he had a chance to provoke him into a one on one fight, to get a better feel for his ki in the brief moments Trunks’ guard would drop, Vegeta was thoroughly convinced that something was very wrong with the boy. To him, at that point it was better to try and literally knock some sense into him and force him to shake off whatever it was than waste time arguing.

Of course the woman disagreed. The moment he’d returned to their side, both Kakarot and Bulma accosted him with questions, and when they realized he’d gone to pay a visit to Trunks and not Frieza himself, Bulma’s worry turned to anger.

“Y-you did what?!” Bulma yelled.

“Jeez, Vegeta, do you really think that was necessary?” Kakarot rubbed the back of his head and Vegeta shot him a glare.

“If I wanted parenting advice, I certainly wouldn’t be asking _you_ ,” he said with a growl. “The boy needed a reminder.”

“Of _what,_ that his father’s a total psycho?!” Bulma yelled again. “I’m sure that’ll help make him change his mind!”

Vegeta glared at her before looking away, his arms folding over his chest as he stared at the busy streets on the other side of the alley. But Bulma blocked his view, her finger shoved in his face as she continued her scolding.

“Don’t you ignore me! You’re gonna have to come up with a real good reason why you decided to beat up your own son!”

“He’s weaker now than he was when he was a child,” Vegeta said. “I wasn’t sure before, but now I am.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!”

“Whatever ‘training’ he’s been doing doesn’t mean anything. Frieza made sure of it,” he said. “I changed nothing about my part of the training we did when he was young, but he’s still forgotten everything I taught him. As if he‘d never learned from me at all.” Bulma clearly wasn’t picking up on what he was trying to say, but he believed it needed no further explanation. Before she could launch into another tirade, Kakarot interjected.

“I think I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “But if that’s the case, why would Frieza keep him around?”

Vegeta shot him a look, and after a moment, Kakarot merely nodded. Bulma looked from one to the other before her cheeks turned red and she let out a frustrated yell.

“One of you better explain yourselves!”

“Later, woman. We should leave this place for now. Come on.”

He didn’t bother waiting for her to argue, instead choosing to walk out of the alley with his head ducked and his hands in his pockets. He and Kakarot split away from Bulma, easily disappearing into the crowds of people lining the streets. It was getting late now, and the two saiyans finally managed to find some food — as it turned out, the keycards did have zeni loaded onto them — and began making their way for the exit before Kakarot stopped them.

“Hold on — Bulma sent another message,” he said, retrieving the communication device. Vegeta’s lips thinned and he retrieved his own, eyeing it with disdain as he stared at it. Why wasn’t she sending _him_ these messages?

“We can’t leave. They shut down the exits an hour ago.”

“Then we’ll find a way around them,” Vegeta said, undeterred.

“Wait, she sent another message,” he squinted at the screen then gave a nervous laugh. “Bulma says if you don’t come back to see her, she’ll just find another handsome ma—”

“What?! Give me that!” Vegeta snatched the device from Kakarot’s hand and glared as he read the words. She’d included coordinates at the end of the message and he growled. “Fine! Let’s go then.” He shoved the communicator back into Kakarot’s hands before storming off in the direction of the coordinates. Damn vulgar woman — the least she could do is actually message _him_ that kind of thing. She must have known that by having Kakarot of all people relay that message to him it’d just make him angry.

 

Every time they reached the coordinates, Bulma sent a new set. After the third time it happened, Vegeta began wondering if this was her way to irritate him. Once they hit new coordinates number five, he’d had enough. He angrily fished out the device from his pocket and was fully prepared to demand she stop toying with them when his eyes fell on the last message she sent him.

‘ _Please control yourself. They need you.’_

“Oh, hey! There’s Bulma!” Kakarot said, distracting Vegeta from staring at the screen. He frowned and put it back into his pocket, eyes searching in the direction Kakarot had pointed. Sure enough, Bulma was standing outside a door to a house that was far smaller than their previous home. She spotted them and then motioned discreetly to the other side of her home before disappearing inside.

“Looks like she wants us to go in from the back,” Kakarot said. Vegeta scoffed to himself.

“All this sneaking about is getting tiresome,” he said.

“Yeah, I hear ya, pal.”

The two went separately — Kakarot went first, creeping round the back in a way that, to Vegeta, made him look both foolish and far too conspicuous, though no one seemed to notice him anyway. Vegeta waited another moment, scanning the streets for any suspicious sorts. There was a patrol walking down the other side of the road, away from him but still too close for his liking. His glared at their backs even as they rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

The street itself was otherwise unremarkable; clearly the people who lived here were better off than the ones below, but certainly far from being considered important enough to have larger dwellings. Each home was identical down to the smallest detail — white squares carved out of stone, each with deep purple roofs and numbers painted on the front of their purple doors. How unbelievably _tacky_ it all looked to him. Frieza’s vanity really had grown over the years.

Vegeta walked down the street, past Bulma’s home until he was satisfied no one was paying any attention to him. He doubled back then, crossing the small yards from behind and moving quickly enough to appear little more than a blur to the naked eye. He stopped directly in front of the back door and twisting the handle slowly.

“What took so long?” Bulma said as he walked through. “You weren’t followed, were you?”

“Of course not,” he said. He looked around — he was standing in a tiny kitchen, one that was clearly meant for only one person at a time, and there was a round dining room table sitting just a few feet away. Kakarot was sitting there, currently devouring a bowl of mixed vegetables and meat, while Bulma was standing by the sink.

“It’s not as big as the old place,” she said, sounding a bit insecure. “But it’s not so bad. There’s only one bedroom, though, so I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, Goku.”

Kakarot swallowed down what was left of his food and nodded, a bright smile across his messy face. “Not a problem! I can sleep anywhere.”

“Great — then in the morning we can figure out what to do next,” she said, turning back to start washing dishes.

“Actually, Bulma, I think I’ll probably leave tomorrow if it’s all the same to you.” Kakarot said, standing up and gathering up his used dishes.

“What? You’re gonna go back to the shelter?”

“No...there’s just something I need to look into. King Kai’s been pretty insistent I go see him, but I told him I had to make sure you guys would be okay without me.”

“King Kai’s around?” Bulma said, as if she genuinely forgot about him. “Well, that’s convenient. Maybe you can ask him where the hell Beerus and Whis went off to.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask…” Kakarot’s expression formed one of confusion as he set the plates and bowls down in the sink. “Are they really gone?”

“Who knows? We haven’t seen or heard from them since the day you guys vanished.”

“You don’t think Frieza had anything to do with it, do you?” Kakarot asked, his tone shifting slightly.

He tried not to show it, but Vegeta was stunned. If both Beerus and Whis had somehow disappeared, did that mean _Frieza_ was responsible? And if that was the case, then that would make him more powerful than even Kakarot at this rate.

No. It couldn’t be. There had to be some mistake. But if Zamasu had found a way to do it...

“There’s no way he could be that powerful,” Vegeta said, firmly. “It’s not possible. It’s far more likely that Beerus simply got bored and left for good.”

Bulma shook her head. “I don’t know, Vegeta,” she said. “At this rate, anything could be possible.”

“Tch. We’ll see about that.”

Vegeta walked away, heading for the narrow hallway next to the dining room.

“Where are you going?” Bulma called after him.

“To shower. The stench of that garbage you put in my hair is giving me a headache,” he called back.

 

He’d hoped taking a shower would help clear his mind, but all it did was give him more opportunity to think about the situation they were in. No matter how he looked at it, they were at a disadvantage from every angle — if he _was_ strong enough to defeat Beerus, if that’s even the reason the god was nowhere to be found, then they were pretty well screwed. What’s more, Vegeta couldn’t shake the image of his children from his mind; his daughter wrapped up in Frieza’s colors, his son the loyal soldier under Frieza’s command. He felt his body shake with rage as he clenched his fists, his teeth grinding as he remembered the humiliation he’d endured in service to the conqueror. And now his own blood were doomed to suffer the same fate he had.

The wall shook and tile shattered from where his fist had connected, and soon enough he could hear Bulma on the other side of the door.

“Hey! Don’t you go breaking my shower in there, Vegeta!” she yelled. “Or you’ll be the one fixing it!”

At the very least, it brought him some solace to know that his wife was here. He sucked in a deep breath and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower to shake himself before wrapping a towel around his waist. He took one last glance back at the new hole in the wall and shrugged — he was no repairman, but he was certain Bulma could handle it just fine. It was hardly the worst thing he’d ever done to their home.

Kakarot was already snoring on the couch when Vegeta exited the bathroom. He scowled in his direction before turning his gaze toward the two other doors in the hallway and walking through the one right across from him. Bulma was already sitting in bed, a pile of papers on her lap, wearing a pair of reading glasses that she rapidly ripped off her face as soon as he stepped in. He raised an eyebrow at her before shutting the door behind him and walking to the bed.

“You can put them back on if you need them,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she was a poor liar, but he supposed he could admire the effort all the same.

“Spare me,” he said. “Even Kakarot would see right through that one.”

Bulma’s cheeks turned red and she looked down at her lap, staring in the kind of silence that he knew really meant she was just hesitating to speak her mind. Vegeta sighed as he watched her, mildly irritated by her sudden insecurity.

“What?” he said. When she didn’t answer right away he spoke again, this time a little more forcefully. “Speak your mind, woman, I haven’t got all night.”

“I know how old I must look to you already,” she said, far too meekly for what he expected of her. Both of his eyebrows raised at that. Was that really why she took them off so quickly? Because she didn't want to “look old” to him? _How ridiculous!_ That she would deny herself something so vital for the sake of vanity genuinely confused him — that she thought he would care how she looked _offended_ him. He would not stand for it!

Vegeta scoffed and reached over to scoop up the glasses from the top of her pile, then examined them closely for a moment. They were not unlike the ones her father wore.

“I used to wear a scouter to read power levels,” he said. “I didn’t enjoy wearing them, but it would have been foolish to deny oneself an advantage in battle for vanity.” He opened them up, gently so that he didn’t break their delicate frame, and then leaned forward to place the glasses on her face.

“You’re no fool,” Vegeta said.

Bulma stared at him blankly for a solid thirty seconds before she blinked and her big blue eyes welled up with tears. He felt his cheeks already growing warm at her reaction, and moved away from the bed to look through the clothes she’d brought back from the shelter. He did his best to ignore her sniffling, but jumped a little when her thin arms suddenly wrapped around his waist from behind.

“Thank you, Vegeta,” she whispered against his back. Her cheeks were wet with tears against his bare skin, and he glanced down at her pale arms for a moment before he placed a hand over them.

It really did bother him how his very presence seemed to make her feel so insecure. The way she would look at him from the corner of her eye and then down at herself or in her own reflection never slipped by him. He knew his wife had always taken great pride in her appearance, but he never really considered it important. Of course he recognized her beauty — he wasn’t blind, and despite what she might have thought of herself now, she was still the most beautiful sight he’d laid eyes on — but it had always been more than that to him. Why did she think her appearance now mattered to him?

He felt her start to move away, but he tightened his grip on her arm slightly to keep her in place. She paused and he felt her breath on his spine.

“Vegeta?” she said. He loosened his hold a bit and turned around to face her, still holding her arms gently. She was looking up at him curiously, breathing a little heavier than she had before. In an instant his mouth was on hers, lips pressing against hers roughly. She gasped in surprise at first, then relaxed and sank into him, flattening her palms against his chest. Vegeta released her hands so that he could maneuver his own under her shirt; one hand wrapped behind her to press into the small of her back while the other traveled up her front to cusp her tit. She shivered against him and let out a small moan against his mouth as he pried the cup of her bra down, then let out a slight cry when his fingers began teasing her nipple.

He enjoyed the noises she made, enjoyed the way her body began to grind against his so insistently. She was already so desperate for him — though it made sense, given how long it’d been for her. He wasn’t too interested in thinking much about it, instead opting to speed things along for her sake. He broke the kiss and pulled his hand off her breast long enough to lift her shirt up and off her, smirking when he saw her glasses come askew from the action, then ripped her bra off of her entirely. She tore her glasses off hurriedly and tossed them onto the dresser behind him, then cupped his face with her hands and forcefully pressed her mouth against his. It was rare that Bulma was so needy — so drunk with lust and need that her movements were uncoordinated.

Vegeta would answer her want with his own, walking her backwards toward the bed and following her as she laid back on it. He climbed over her, the towel around his waist just barely hanging on, and trailed his kisses down to her chest. He dragged kisses along the top of her breasts, then circled his tongue around one nipple for a moment before moving to do the same to the other, sucking on it viciously. She rocked against him, her hands buried in his hair and tugging at the strands insistently, while her hips bucked upwards to occasionally brush against his manhood, sending tingles down his spine with each contact.

“V-Vegeta, please!” she cried, desperation dripping from her voice. He grunted against her breast and released her with a pop, his teeth lightly grazing the tip as he did. She bucked harder and he growled again, now feeling the same urgency she did. Vegeta undid the front of her pants easily, and pulled them down and off of her in a couple of quick, fluid movements. He could smell her desire, and her body shuddered when he growled in anticipation, his mouth watering. He made no efforts to be gentle when he ripped her panties off as if they were made from tissue, causing her to jolt slightly before he ducked down and pressed his face into her wetness.

His tongue darted in and out of her, licked at her, trailed it along her folds and savored the taste of her. Her fingers twisted into his hair as he continued suckling and nibbling gently at her skin, her whole body trembling as she let out gasps and moans, occasionally managing to say his name. She cried out when his mouth found her clit, unable to last beyond just a few licks before she arched her back, her body shaking with pleasure. He let her ride out her orgasm against his face, allowed her to rest only a moment before he was climbing up the length of her body again.

“Oh, Vegeta,” she breathed, her arms wrapping around his neck lazily, her legs coming up to hug his waist. He felt like he was harder than he’d ever been before, and let out a low groan when his cock brushed against her. Bulma raised her hips invitingly, the heels of her feet pressing into the backs of his thighs, and he needed no more encouragement — he sank into her, reveling in the way her muscles clenched around him.

When he first started rocking into her, he could tell she was still trying to recover from her orgasm, but it didn’t take long until she was moaning again, fingernails dragging into his shoulder blades and digging into his skin. He pumped faster, grunts and moans escaping between his breaths, but kept a gentle pace — perhaps holding back a little more than he was used to. Bulma seemed to pick up on his caution, and after bucking her hips a couple of times didn’t get his attention, she turned her head to press her lips against his ear.

“ _Harder_ ,” she breathed. And who was he to deny her what she wanted?

Vegeta growled and sat up on his knees, pulling her with him and briefly slipping out of her so that he could re-position them. He grabbed her by the bottoms of her thighs and dragged her back to him, then drove back into her violently, the crashing of his cock inside her causing her to yell out in pleasure. His hands went to her waist as he continued his onslaught, pounding into her so hard he was sure to leave bruises in the morning.

Bulma’s moans turned to cries as she was rocked by a second orgasm, her muscles contracting around him so deliciously that he shuddered. His pace became erratic as she shook until he thrust into her one final time, his hips stuttering as he released himself inside of her, riding out his own orgasm to completion.

The two remained motionless for a moment, their heavy breaths the only sound in the room. Vegeta pulled out of her and she shivered again, before letting out a deep, content sigh. He retrieved the towel from the edge of the bed and offered it out to her, which she took and weakly dropped it between her legs before throwing herself back against the pillows.

“I love you,” she said sleepily. Vegeta merely grunted in reply as he headed back for the bathroom to take a second shower, though he allowed a smile to tug at his mouth in spite of himself.

 

At first, Vegeta couldn’t decide if Kakarot had heard them last night or not. Initially he’d assumed the other man must have slept through it when he behaved just as idiotic as usual. He made idle chit chat that Vegeta didn’t respond to, then bounced off theories about Beerus’ whereabouts that Vegeta also didn’t respond to, before he finally gave up. There wasn’t much room for either of them to train separately — let alone together — and so they did what they could, which meant push ups and sit ups right after they’d cleaned out Bulma’s fridge.

But then when Bulma emerged, fresh from a shower and smiling (and maybe limping just slightly), Kakarot’s demeanor changed entirely, and Vegeta _knew_ he’d heard. He laughed nervously at everything she said, then asked her why she was limping before immediately withdrawing his question and doing a hundred push ups in a few seconds.

It was embarrassing, really.

“I’d better get going,” Kakarot finally said, making a point to avoid looking Bulma in the eye as he did. “King Kai might have some answers for us. I’ll be back as soon as I can!”

“Okay, but be careful, Goku,” Bulma said, trying to find a way into his line of sight as he quite comically avoided her. “And — would you — why are you moving so much?”

“A-anyway, bye, guys!” Kakarot put two fingers to his forehead and vanished instantly, leaving Vegeta and Bulma behind while the latter stared at where he stood in confusion.

“Huh...that was weird.”

“Tch. No weirder than usual.”

Vegeta turned his head away to examine the few photographs she had sitting on a small table near the front door. In their old home, they’d had pictures of Trunks and Bulla spread out throughout the house, with the occasional family photo thrown in there despite Vegeta’s best efforts to avoid being in them.

But now, he only saw photographs of his adult children — one of Trunks that seemed fairly recent, and another of Bulla that looked aged by a couple of years, and it seemed more like she hadn’t realized there was a camera on her. With her blue hair, it was easier to recognize her as the baby girl he’d left behind, and he pushed back against the cold weight settling in his gut.

“By the way, don’t think I didn’t notice that big hole you left in my bathroom!” Bulma said suddenly, rounding on Vegeta and dragging him away from his thoughts. “ _You’ll_ be fixing that before you go anywhere today.”

“What, _me_?”

“Yes _you_. Do you see anyone else around here who punches holes in walls because he’s upset?”

“Hmph.” Vegeta crossed his arms and looked away. Then something hit him on the side of his head and he looked down in time to catch it. A tiny container of...white goo? “What the hell is this?”

“Plaster. Wall. _Now_!”

He glared at her, but she didn’t even waver in the slightest — her own glare overpowered his with its ferocity, and he grumbled to himself as he headed for the bathroom.

“And make sure you don’t just slap it on there and call it a day! It has to be set right, Vegeta!”

“Damn it, woman, I know!”

He cursed her in his mind the entire time he was patching up the wall, glowering at the substance. He did indeed slap it on there and was about to call it a day, but then smoothed it out when he realized just how irritating she’d be if she decided this was the hill she was going to die on today. The woman claimed more graves on every hill of every size than anyone else he’d ever known. Yet he couldn’t deny that it was oddly comforting to be sitting there angrily doing what she’d demanded. It was like everything was normal again, if only for a few fleeting moments. In a little while they’d be right back to planning their next move against Frieza, trying to find a way to save their children and put an end to the conqueror’s rule for good.

But for now, he was just a husband doing what his wife asked him to against his will, and he would secretly savor every second of it as long as he could.


	9. To Thine Own Self

Word was still going around of Pasley’s stunning victory against Trunks, and neither of them thought anything would really come from it beyond the childish taunts they endured. That was until Commander Ryce appeared in the barracks and demanded both Pasley and Trunks’ presence before Captain Almone, who seemed less than pleased when they entered her office.

“Tell me what happened,” she said calmly as soon as the door slid shut behind them. The two stood next to each other, backs straight and hands firmly at their sides.

“About what, ma’am?” Pasley said, looking straight ahead.

“About _this_ ,” Almone said, motioning toward Trunks. “Tell me what you did.”

A quiet settled between the two, and for a moment, Trunks felt a hint of panic rise from his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to look at Pasley, but he didn’t dare move in Almone’s presence. All he could do was hope she would continue to keep their secret.

“We were training and I got carried away, ma’am,” Pasley said, her voice unwavering. Trunks nearly sighed in relief until Almone let out a low chuckle.

“I’ve always heard stories about how resilient saiyans are,” she said. “How Lord Frieza himself had to put them down because no one else could. When you first came to us, I thought you’d break — yet you never did. Not even when I put my best against you.”

Though she never said his name, he knew she was speaking to him. In spite of himself, Trunks’ jaw tightened and though it was only the slightest change in his demeanor, the flash in Almone’s eyes told him that she’d certainly noticed it.

“How stupid do you think I am?” she demanded. “How stupid do you think _Lord Frieza_ is?”

“We’re not lying, ma’am,” Pasley said. “I’ve worked alongside Trunks for years, I know his weaknesses and I—”

“Silence, girl,” Almone said, shooting Pasley a dark glare. She eyed them both for a moment, her lips curling into a frown as she sized them up. Trunks could feel his skin crawl under her scrutiny, yet for all intents and purposes he appeared perfectly calm. After what seemed like a century, the door behind them slid open and two soldiers stepped through, offering a salute to the captain.

“Take these two to the training room,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “As a reward for such _impressive_ dedication to their training.”

 

It was always cold here, in this vast emptiness. His feet were on solid ground yet he felt like he was floating endlessly, never able to quite get his footing. He was surrounded by nothing, and by everything, all at once, until he wasn’t. Until it was just...pain.

_Dance, filthy little half-breed. Keep dancing until I tell you to stop._

Oh, kami. A part of him wanted to hold still, out of defiance. Out of a need to prove something. But he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t hold still. He tried so hard, but the _pain_. Every part of him was on fire. Worse than ever before, worse than anything he’d ever felt in his life. His muscles quaked and shook, his anguished screams echoed into the void. He felt himself getting hotter and hotter until his blood boiled and his skin burned, and then the nothingness became light and the pain became so much more. His bones rattled and his body seized and he fell forward into the empty space below.

_Stop now. I command you to stop._

Squeezing. He was squeezing his head from the pain, unable to open his eyes from it, unable to _breathe_ from it. He couldn’t — he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t stop the light — he could, though, because the pain wouldn’t end until he did. He shook himself, begged himself to stop whatever it was he was doing. When it did, he knew the light had gone out, and he was weak from its power. Never use it, something deep inside him urged. Never try.

 _It was just a legend —_ _a legend and nothing more. Stop trying._

His lungs drank in every bit of air they could, his chest heaved with great effort. He was still bruised from his father’s wrath, his muscles aching with every effort he put forth. Someone was talking to him now, the rush of blood in his ears drowned them out and they spoke louder. Louder until he could hear them. Louder until they were all he could hear.

_Ah, I see. I see now._

He wouldn’t remember what they said, not really. Never could, no matter how hard he tried. He just _knew_ the words spoken were the truth, knew the words were embedded beneath his skin and settled deep into his bones. That when his bones shook, he would remember everything and nothing at once. He would know his place, and he would know where he belonged.

_You belong here._

Home. _This_ was home. This was life, and home. This was life, and home, and he would protect it at all costs. He would protect the one who made it so. He would, or he would die trying. That was that. That was the only _truth_ he needed.

 

They were given ten minutes to recover once they stepped out of the training room. Trunks’ knees tried to buckle beneath him when he stepped out, his legs shaking with the effort it took to keep from collapsing on the ground. His ears were ringing and he felt like he’d been through hell, but in spite of it all his mind felt clearer than it had in years. Had it really been so long since he’d been worthy enough to set foot in that room? A few seconds later, the door opened again and Pasley stumbled out, doubling over herself with her hands to her knees as she fought to catch her breath and keep from falling.

“Captain Almone, they’ve completed their training,” said the nameless soldier by the door, speaking directly into the device attached to his wrist. He waited a moment for his next order, then nodded and looked at the pair. “Understood, ma’am. Come on, you two.”

Trunks’ body ached as he stood straight again, but he was at least able to do so — Pasley wasn’t so lucky, and toppled over as soon as she tried to take a single step. It took everything for Trunks not to turn back and help her up, but he knew doing so in front of another soldier was just projecting weakness for the world to see. He could only glance down at her with a blank expression as she struggled back to her feet and take a shaky step forward.

The soldier didn’t bother to slow his pace at all for either of them, instead allowing them both to suffer in silence as they forced their aching bodies to follow. They walked with him back to Captain Almone’s empty office, where he stopped in the doorway to address them.

“The captain will return shortly. Stay here until she arrives.”

And with that, they were left alone in the office, neither of them daring to give into the urge to sit down in the two chairs in front of them. They remained completely silent, both staring straight ahead at the empty seat behind the captain’s desk, with only the sound of their breathing filtering through the air. It was an agonizing forty-five minutes that they waited, standing completely still and fought through the searing pain their bodies were in. At one point, he thought he saw Pasley begin to waver, but the woman steeled herself with a deep breath, he breathed in quiet relief.

“You may sit,” Almone’s voice came from behind them as she entered. The two saluted and said their thanks in unison before taking a seat, Trunks’ muscles screaming out in pain as he forced it to perform the impossible task of actually moving.

“Lord Frieza has granted you both leniency for your service to him,” she said. Trunks blinked and watched her face closely, unsure of exactly what she meant. Service...in the Armored Forces? Or something else?

“But the next lie you dare to breathe will be your last. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am, understood, ma’am,” they both said in unison.

“Good. You’re dismissed. Return to the barracks and rest. Tomorrow you’ll be given your new assignments.”

 

The fact that they’d both made it back to the barracks without succumbing to the agony they felt was a triumph in and of itself. They walked in silence the entire way there, at first able to muster the strength they needed to exit the command deck with their shoulders back and heads held high, but by the time they were walking down the long hallway of their living quarters, all pretense of strength had melted away.

Trunks was able to recover enough to at least enough to take Pasley’s arm over his shoulders and steady her with his hand around her middle. He listened to her ragged breaths as he walked her down the hallway, quietly thanking kami for the fact that they hadn’t run across anyone else yet.

He let her go once they reached her door so that she could fish out her keycard and press it flat against the front, her hand holding onto the handle for dear life. Her eyes were closed and her skin was glistening from the sweat beading all over her skin — in that moment, Trunks couldn’t help but admire her. He knew exactly what pain she was going through and yet she was still standing, still refusing to give into the ache in her bones.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, slightly pained. His chest still ached with every breath. She peeked him through one half-lidded eye, then furrowed her brow and grunted.

“Long as I don’t look half as bad as you, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? Been holding that door handle and not opening it for a real long time now.”

She adjusted her weight and licked at her dry lips before shaking her head. “I do this every time I come home.”

“You...stand there and hold the handle?”

“No — I deal with dumbasses with dumbass questions before I go to bed.”

He might’ve laughed if he felt like his lungs wouldn’t actually burst if he did. Instead he shook his head stiffly and stepped away from her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Pasley was done talking by that point. She nodded her head wearily and willed herself to open the door the rest of the way, disappearing into the room without a second glance. Trunks waited until her door had shut all the way before he turned and began his trek back to his own room. Suddenly, he felt weaker than he had when he was carrying Pasley at his side and had to use the wall to keep himself stable enough to make it back.

Yet in spite of it all, in spite of the pain that bubbled beneath his skin, there was something underneath it all that was...comforting. The knowledge that he’d been worthy enough to enter that training room, that he’d done something of value and came out stronger for it, made something blossom inside of him. Something warm. It was all he could think about as he lay his head down into the pillow on his bed.

 _Pride._ It was pride he felt. What a strange and funny feeling that was.


	10. Be Alright

Over the last few years, Bulma had almost forgotten what normal life felt like. She remembered everything, of course; how the city used to look, the way the air smelled before the pollution, how friendly and inviting the world seemed — at least when it wasn’t being threatened by some new Big Bad. Most of all, she remembered _her_ life, the one she had built for herself. She’d gone on grand adventures the moment she turned sixteen and when she met Goku, her entire life had changed.

Things got tougher, sure. The adventures got more serious and dangerous as time went on, but it always led to something greater. It led her to love the strongest man she’d ever known, to have a family and to be happy with her life. She still found time for adventures, still refused to be put on the sidelines, but no matter how scary things got she always knew she’d come home to her husband and children. But Frieza came, her husband disappeared, her children were ripped away from her, and the fight died in her eyes. For far too long afterwards she forgot how to feel anything besides grief.

But now the spark was back, igniting a flame that she’d long given up on trying to stoke. Her heart felt so full of hope now, hope for the future and for her children to live a life of freedom. Vegeta and Goku were here and she just _knew_ everything would be alright with them. It had to be, because she had no idea what she’d do if it didn’t work out.

She’d originally come to the bathroom to examine Vegeta’s handiwork on the wall he’d so rudely punched a hole in, but she found herself reminiscing instead. Standing before the mirror, she examined herself closely, leaning nearer to her reflection and turning her head occasionally. After last night’s excursion, she couldn’t help but feel better about herself for the first time in a long time. She felt like herself again, like whatever doubts she had had melted away and she smiled.

“That’s right — no more feeling sorry!” Bulma said to herself. “Time to get out there and show them what you’ve got.”

Vegeta was trying to busy himself with a variety of workouts in the living room, having shoved aside the little furniture she had to make some space. His face was fixed into one of concentration as he moved, his muscles straining as he punched the air and twisted his body to change positions quickly. She had to admit she was impressed at his ability to adapt his technique in such a small space, and kept quiet to watch him for a moment.

“It’s not quite the gravity room, but at least it’s sort of a challenge still, right?” she said brightly. He gave her a curt nod but said nothing, instead focusing on his movements and adjusting his stance.

“You know, it might be safe enough for us to take a walk around before you—“

A sharp beeping sound cut her off, and she glanced down at the watch on her wrist, the little screen blinking rapidly.

“Oh...it’s already time. I can’t believe I forgot,” she said. Vegeta stopped mid-punch to look at her expectantly. She bit the bottom of her lip. “Today’s the anniversary of Frieza’s takeover, so they’re having a celebration at the courtyard.”

“And?”

“And...well, I don’t _enjoy_ them but it’s one of the few ways I get to see Bulla in person, rather than on a screen. She’s usually there to sing.”

If Vegeta was at all affected by what she said, he didn’t show it. He remained silent and unmoving, and Bulma could feel his eyes locked onto her. She wondered if he knew she was holding something back, though she needn’t wonder for long.

“Frieza will be there, won’t he?” he said. As even as his tone _seemed,_ she recognized the underlying danger. Bulma closed her eyes and nodded stiffly, then opened them again to put her hands on her hips and give him a stern look.

“You _can’t_ try to take him on, Vegeta,” she said. “Especially not today when the entire city will be out there! So don’t even think about not sticking to the plan.”

Vegeta glared and eyed her as if trying to decide whether or not to argue, but ultimately seemed to accept it wasn’t worth the effort. She gave a satisfied ‘hmph’ and nodded to herself before looking back down at her watch and turning off the notification.

“Actually, this is a good opportunity to find out where the Dragon Balls are. With any luck, they’ll be so focused on the parade that they won’t even notice me poking around.”

She knew that meant not being able to see her daughter and the thought alone hurt, but what choice did she have? Bulma reasoned that she could see her all the time if they could get hold of the Dragon Balls and put things back the way they were supposed to be.

“Then do you really think it’s wise to act now?” he said, folding his arms. “We should wait for Kakarot.”

It didn’t escape her how strange it was for Vegeta to suggest such a thing — he was usually happy to leave Goku out of things, to prove he could handle it on his own. So for him to suggest waiting for the other saiyan to return was quite the feat for him, but it also wasn’t going to deter her.

“For what? There won’t be any fighting, and I don’t think Goku knows how to navigate system networks.”

“You’re the one who keeps insisting we need to be careful,” he reasoned. “But if you insist, then I will go with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will.”

“Vegeta—“ she brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’m not having this argument with you again!”

“There’s nothing to argue, woman. I’m going, and that’s final.”

Under normal circumstances, Bulma would have been more than happy to argue until her face was as blue as her hair. But right now, between the look on his face and the limited window of time they’d have, she knew it was probably futile. Even if he agreed, he’d probably just get antsy and do something stupid. At least this way she’d be able to keep an eye on him.

“Ugh, fine! You saiyans are always so damn stubborn,” she said, throwing her hands up.

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered, a brief flash of regret crossing his face almost immediately when he saw the way she was glaring at him.

Yeah, it was just like old times with him around, and once she’d settled down, they got to work on getting him into a new disguise.

 

Frieza had never struck Bulma as the celebratory type before. Granted, it wasn’t like she really knew him or anything. The most direct interaction she’d ever had with him had been when he tried to kill her to torment Goku, and that was quite enough for her, thanks. Still, he’d always just seemed like the kind of bad guy who came in, blew up planets, killed people, laughed all evilly and take off. Yet when he conquered the earth all those years ago, _something_ seemed very different indeed. How many evil alien conquerors setup a new government system rather than blow the place up?

“I assure you it’s entirely normal for him, the vain bastard,” Vegeta said when she had expressed her curiosity. “Conquering planets isn’t always just about blowing them up. Sometimes it’s far worse.”

While she had more questions, she knew from the way her husband spoke about it that it seemed painful to him even if he would never admit as much, so she chose not to push it. She imagined the memory of what Frieza did to his people was a terrible burden to bear.

They had decided to walk separately once they left her house, despite the disguise. She’d convinced him to wear the fake beard again, but had to compromise with the hair — the product was “too disgusting” to deal with, apparently — and so she’d spent a painstakingly long time stuffing his hair under a hat. It worked surprisingly well, and she even manage to compliment him without receiving a complaint or dismissal in return.

Bulma had taken the lead since she was the one who knew where to go. The celebrations were getting into full swing as they made it to the upper levels, the streets completely packed full of people dressed in white and purple outfits. With it being so crowded, she worried that Vegeta would lose sight of her, but every time she glanced over her shoulder she could see that he was still there.

Since the science division was housed in a floating building, Bulma had to request special access from the terminal gate. While her request itself wasn’t especially unusual, she was the _only_ scientist requesting access on a day where almost everyone enjoyed time off.

“The armor I’m modifying is for my son,” she reasoned when the security guard stared her. “And since his birthday’s coming up I want it to be done as soon as possible, so there’s no time for any days off!”

Trunks’ birthday was not, in fact, coming up. And even if it was, he hadn’t celebrated with her since he was still a child. But the guard didn’t know that, instead offering an indifferent shrug before waving her inside the pod lift.

“Wow, that was close,” she whispered to herself as she looked out the window, straining to see if she could spot Vegeta. “I hope he knows what he’s doing.”

With everyone except a handful of guards gone for the day, the building was eerily quiet when she entered. She made a show of heading toward her office, but as soon as she was sure to be out of sight, she changed course and went for the main systems room instead. It took her a while to reach it given the number of guards that were roaming the halls, but once she did, she opened the door and allowed herself a triumphant “Yes!”

“Quiet, woman.”

A hand flew over her mouth just as she let out a surprised yell, her skin practically jumping off her bones, but relaxed the moment she realized that it was just her husband.

“Don’t scare me like that!” she said, pulling his hand away. “How did you get in here so fast? You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

“Of course not. Now’s not the time for chit chat.” He brushed past her and entered the room, Bulma close behind him and bee lining for the main systems terminal.

“Okay, it shouldn’t take too long to figure out how to access it,” she said mostly to herself. The holographic keyboard appeared beneath her hands as she raised them into position. “Just keep watch and warn me if someone’s coming. Oh and, sweetie?”

Vegeta turned toward her just in time for her to plant a kiss on his cheek, his face turning red instantly and his head jerking back like she’d bitten him.

“Argh! Woman, you know how much I hate that!”

“I know, but I just couldn’t help myself. I want to show you my love!”

“You don’t need to do it like _that,_ ” he grumbled before quickly walking away from her, as if afraid she might kiss him again. She allowed herself a little giggle before she turned back to the computer screen and set to work accessing the system.

Frankly, it was easier said than done. It seemed like every time she felt she was getting close, she was blocked by something — files would go missing before she could touch them or they’d be in an alien language she couldn’t even begin to fathom understanding. After several minutes, Vegeta reappeared, looking more agitated than usual as he approached.

“What’s taking so long?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Just a few hiccups, dear, nothing to be worried about,” Bulma replied, her lips pursing as she opened another file she couldn’t read. She was about to close it out when Vegeta’s hand grabbed hers before she could.

“Wait — that is the one you want,” he said, squinting at the screen.

“How can you be sure?”

“Obviously because I know how to read.”

Strange as it sounded, it was sometimes easy to forget that her husband was an alien who had a life out there among the stars. Of course it made sense that he could read the odd looking symbols.

“What does it say?” she asked, moving aside to make room for him. He stepped closer and stared at the screen, then his eyes went wide — a sight Bulma knew never, _ever_ meant anything good. “W-what is it? Vegeta?”

“It...it can’t be!”

“What does it say?!” she asked, more urgently this time.

“He...destroyed them...”

“What?! Destroyed what?!”

“The Dragon Balls,” Vegeta said, turning to look at her. The mix of shock and fear in her husband’s eyes — eyes that were often so full of determination, of strength and pride — was enough to rattle her to her very core. “They’re _gone_.”

As if right on cue, every light in the room flickered off and they were plunged into darkness. She let out a yelp as she felt Vegeta’s hands on her, moving her so that she was behind him, and when the emergency lights finally came on she saw that he’d taken a defensive stance in front of her, his eyes locked on the door.

“Someone’s coming,” he said. “Do you understand what that means?”

Bulma stared at the back of his head blankly for a moment, unable to move or even speak until he glanced back at her from over his shoulder.

“Bulma, answer me! Do you understand what I must do when they come through that door?”

“Y-yes,” she said, her voice quivering. She felt like she was in shock, her thoughts moving too fast for the rest of her to catch up. Instinctively she placed her shaky hands on his shoulders, and felt herself cower behind him as the door opened, her eyes shutting tightly while she tried to prepare herself for the fight that was sure to come.

“Mother?”

Wait... _mother_? Bulma’s eyes shot open and she peered around Vegeta’s shoulders. Sure enough, it was her son standing in the doorway and she felt herself begin to relax. She released Vegeta’s shoulders and let out a deep exhale, then began to circle around him so that she could approach her boy.

“ _T_ _runks_ , you scared me half to—”

Vegeta’s arm shot out in front of her, blocking her from moving any closer. Confused, she looked at the saiyan and attempted to push his arm away, but he wouldn’t budge. He was staring daggers at Trunks, with an expression she couldn’t say she particularly cared for.

“What, are you blind? It’s just Trunks.”

For Trunks’ part, he hadn’t moved from where he stood, his own gaze locked onto his father. She exchanged looks between the two before she grew impatient and pushed against Vegeta’s arm again.

“Vegeta, so help me — it’s _just_ Trunks!” she repeated, emphasizing the last part in case he didn’t hear her the first time she said it.

“Is it?” he growled back, directing the question at his son.

“If you cooperate, it’d really make my day a whole lot easier,” Trunks replied, his tone far too casual for what they were implying.

“Why should I care about making _your day_ easier?” Vegeta spat.

“Well, you’ve missed a lot of birthdays. Call it a late present.” Trunks stepped into the room now, and Bulma couldn’t help but notice he was wearing the new armor she’d made for him — the one she’d been so sure to reinforce extra carefully to ensure his safety in a battle.

“Tch. I told your mother that we spoiled you too much.”

As Trunks got closer, Vegeta pushed Bulma back so that she was behind him once more. But then she felt something snap inside her as she realized what they were about to do, and she felt her heart already beginning to ache.

“No! No, you’re not doing this!” Bulma yelled and lunged forward, trying to get between the two as best she could. Vegeta was faster, however, and caught her before she could get fully around him.

“Bulma, _don’t_!”

“You two aren’t going to fight! I won’t allow it, do you hear me?!”

“Don’t you see what’s—”

In a flash, Vegeta was suddenly knocked across the room behind them, smashing through the terminal they’d just used and crashing into another behind that. Her eyes widened with horror as she turned to look at Trunks. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for when she searched his face, but what she got was a _smirk_ she’d never seen on his face before.

 _Oh, kami._ What happened to her sweet boy? _Why_ was he doing this? Her head was spinning now and she weakly reached out for him, thinking in some part of her mind that maybe if she could just hold him he would stop — he would come back to his senses. But his hand shot out and caught hers roughly, so much so that she winced in his grasp, and he yanked her hard so that she fell behind him. _He’d just tossed her aside_ , like she was nothing.

The action only seemed to infuriate Vegeta, who’d come to his feet and immediately launched himself at Trunks, and the pair began to spar. She couldn’t tell what was happening — not really. They were moving too quickly and destroying everything in their wake, causing sparks to fly through the air and further complicate her ability to see. When a piece of metal shot out and barely missed her cheek, Bulma was all at once quite aware that was too close to the action, and only just managed to crawl out into the hallway before the pair had come crashing down into the spot she was just sitting in.

Her legs felt like jelly as she forced herself to stand, knees shaking beneath her as she turned to catch only glimpses of the destruction happening inside the server room. Every part of her wanted nothing more than to be able to run back in there and put an end to it, to get between the pair of them and force them apart and try to figure out just _why_ this was happening. Had Trunks really turned on them? He’d promised he wouldn’t say anything, had been so adamant about keeping her and his sister safe and now…

Now there was no way Frieza wouldn’t find out about Vegeta, and they still had no idea if Goku was even strong enough to defeat him anymore.

“Hello ma’am,” someone said, causing Bulma to jump and turn toward the sound. It was a woman with teal hair and dark skin in an Armored Forces uniform — Trunks’ partner, if she remembered correctly — and Bulma felt her stomach twist. “I’m a friend of Trunks’. You’d better come with me. It’ll be easier for everyone if you’re not here.”

“Oh? And just where do you think you’re going to take me, huh?” Bulma said, taking a step back. The woman offered a slight smile and took a long step forward, closing the distance between them.

“You know where.”

A cold chill swept through her body, momentarily paralyzing Bulma with fear. But when the woman took another step toward her and held out her hand, she felt her body move on its own, taking matters into its own hands. Taking _survival_ into its own hands. She turned and ran, her legs finding strength from seemingly nowhere.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” the woman called after her, but Bulma ignored her, rounding the corner and running down a narrow hallway.

Without warning, Bulma felt herself collide with something solid, the impact knocking her back and causing her to stumble slightly. _Damn it!_ It was the woman, and Bulma should have known that she was going to be much faster than she was. She held out her hand, as if offering something, and gave as gentle a smile as she seemed capable of making.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said again. “But I will if I have to.”

“Oh, like hell you will!” Bulma yelled as she turned to run back the way she came. Again, the woman abruptly appeared in front of her. Frustrated, she turned to run the other way and — once more — was stopped. She was barely able to register a fist flying toward her face, her eyes closing and her hands coming up to at least _try_ to block it, before she realized it never came. When she opened her eyes again, Vegeta was standing in front of her, holding both of the woman’s fists in his hands. He let out a savage yell and twisted her arms, eliciting a loud cry from the woman before Trunks suddenly came out of nowhere to check Vegeta into the wall. They crashed through it and the woman stumbled backward, holding her hands against her chest in pain before turning her attention back to Bulma.

But Bulma had danced this dance plenty of times before, to scarier and meaner songs, and was already tearing down the hallway again. She grabbed everything she could to toss in the path behind her — shelves, a water cooler, a chair, whatever she could, _anything_ to slow the soldier hot on her heels down. By the time her hand landed on the door handle to the descent pod, though, the woman had caught up with her and snatched her by her hair to pull her backwards. She yelped and grabbed at the hands on her, struggling and thrashing against the other woman, who winced in pain at the resistance.

“Just — stop resisting and accept that you—”

A loud bang nearly deafened her and Bulma felt a rush of cool air billow over her, bright sunlight bursting through the hallway from the newly made hole in the wall beside them. From outside, Vegeta shot in and took the woman’s hands again, only this time Bulma heard the distinct sound of snapping bones and the teal haired one yelp out in pain. Abruptly released from her grasp, Bulma fell forward and hit against the door in front of her, taking a moment to look at Vegeta as he blocked a barrage of violent kicks from the woman.

She’d seen Vegeta in far worse states before, yet somehow knowing that the injuries he was now sporting were courtesy of their own child...it felt like she had a hole punched through her own chest. She’d never felt this kind of horrible pain before and her stomach crawled up her throat as she tried hard to fight back against the image of what her son might look like himself now. Bloodied and bruised by his own father — she felt like she was going to throw up right there.

“Go, Bulma! I’ll find you later!” he barked.

“But — Trunks, he—”

“I said _GO_!”

She nodded weakly and forced her body to move, stumbling into the pod and beginning the descent. Down below, she saw a swarm of guards waiting for her at the main gate and felt panic begin to bubble inside her. Just as she was trying to plan exactly _how_ she was supposed to get by them, a bolt of bright light shot passed her and leveled the platform, causing the pod she was in to rattle violently before crashing down amidst rubble and the smell of blood.

Although shaken, she was unharmed as she crawled out of the pod and wobbled her way across the ruined platform, the sound of screaming civilians disorienting her further. Bulma ran down the street and ducked into an alley just as she heard the sound of more soldiers arriving, orders being shouted in every direction as they searched the rubble for her. She looked up to see the telltale sign of two saiyans engaged in a fight, her eyes straining to make out the figures as tears threatened to compromise her vision.

She knew she couldn’t stay there. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to anyway, unable to bear what would happen should either win the fight. No, she’d be no use to anyone if she waited around to get captured. Bulma searched the streets for an opportunity before ducking into a massive crowd of people as they ran away from the destruction. Along the way, she’d managed to snatch a large hat off of an older woman who seemed unaware of the chaos around her, and stuffed it onto her head, hoping beyond hope that if her blue hair was obscured that it might throw off anyone trying to find her.

But even if she made it out of the city, where was she supposed to go? Her first instinct was to go to the shelter, but if Trunks had really turned against them, then that’d surely be the first place he’d come looking. She had to...she had to call Goku. Bulma retrieved the communicator from her pocket with shaking hands, but stopped herself just as she was about to start typing, realization sinking into her like a heavy weight.

If Goku came, Frieza wouldn’t be far behind.

The sound of an explosion above her caught her attention and she looked skyward, holding a hand up to shield her eyes from the blinding light. The sight of a limp body falling through the air made her heart stop and she watched in horror as she realized who it belonged to.

 _Vegeta_.

He disappeared behind the New Trade Planet building, watching even as she silently begged him to wake up and fly away. But he never did, and the sound of a distant crash confirmed that he’d landed _somewhere_. Reluctantly, she turned her gaze to look up at Trunks’ form floating motionless in the air for a moment before he chased after his father.

It seemed like time stopped for a moment, and her heart shattered in her chest completely. Tears streamed down her face as she will herself to move, though so much of her wanted nothing more than to run to his side. But Vegeta had told her to go, and he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate her putting herself in danger anymore than absolutely necessary. Standing around and crying was certainly not a good enough excuse.

For now, she’d bury her grief deep inside as she made her way through the city, hurrying down to the lower levels before it was overwhelmed with soldiers. She’d figure out where to go once she was clear of the city, and then she’d just have to hope that her husband would somehow find her — just like he promised.

He never broke a promise.


	11. Ghosts That We Knew

The last time Goten had seen a city up close, it was in ruins. Half of it destroyed from a massive battle between Gohan and Frieza, and the rest laid to waste by Frieza’s Forces. After Gohan had been defeated, the city fell completely — the Forces left behind burning buildings and rotting corpses after they had rounded up the survivors. Goten was still young then, still not quite able to understand what was happening other than “bad guy is doing bad things” and all he’d wanted to do was avenge his brother and keep his mom safe. When they escaped, they ran off into the wilds and never looked back. Now, it felt like looking back was all he was doing.

They had been traveling for a day already, having managed to trade some food for an old jeep. Krillin figured it would take them two more days to get to West City if they were quick enough, but spent quite a lot of the first few hours of the next day casually trying to convince Seeda to let them carry her since flying would cut their travel time in half. For now, Seeda was at the wheel, steadfastly ignoring the bald man while Goten sat in the passenger side, and Krillin had his head poked between them from the back.

“Heck, you could just sit on Goten’s back! And we’ll go slow enough so you don’t fall off or anything. We’ve carried lots of people, haven’t we Goten?” Krillin said enthusiastically.

“Oh, sure!” Goten said, nodding in agreement. Seeda said nothing, allowing a heavy weight of awkward silence to settle between them before Krillin spoke up.

“Er...you’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

A sharp squeal pierced their ears as he suddenly jerked forward and hit his forehead against the middle console with a ‘pop’, and Goten had to reach out and stop himself from smacking into the glove box himself. Seeda cleared her throat and continued to drive normally while Krillin held his forehead with a groan.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop asking,” he said. Goten could only laugh nervously and turn his attention back to the road outside. It was well past midnight by now, the stars and moon shining bright enough to illuminate the area in a cool light. They were getting further away from the mountains than they’d been in a long time, and Goten could feel a mix of excitement and fear bubble inside him.

“Those mountains sure do look small from this distance,” Goten said. “I wonder where we are now.”

“If I had to guess, we’re near Central City,” Krillin said, still rubbing his forehead gingerly. “Then we’ll be about a half day away from West City.”

“The closer we get to the cities, the more frequently the patrols are,” Seeda said, breaking her silence for the first time all day. “We’ll need to be extra cautious.”

“Right,” Krillin agreed. “We’ll have to do our best to avoid them.”

They drove for a couple of more hours after that, only occasionally making some conversation and stopping long enough for Krillin to take the driver’s seat so that Seeda could nap in the back. Goten had been having a hard time getting any rest since they’d left the village, which he knew was due to the stress he felt for betraying his mother’s trust and abandoning her. But...this was for the greater good, right? If he didn’t do this, they’d spend the rest of their lives running. She deserved better than that, he justified to himself.

“Hey, you know,” Krillin said, and Goten was suddenly aware that the older man had been watching him from the corner of his eye as he drove. “Your mom’s gonna be fine. I’ve known her forever and she’s way tougher than you think, and not just because she’s got a mean kick.”

“I know,” Goten said, offering Krillin an appreciative smile. “I can’t help it, though. We’re all we have left, and ever since Gohan was…”

It still hurt. Even after all this time, the wound felt fresh. Krillin seemed to agree, and gave a sad nod.

“Yeah, but...say, did I ever tell you about the time we went to Namek?” Krillin said. “We were only gone for a few weeks, but boy did it feel like _years_. Afterwards, your dad chose to stay away from earth so he could train.”

“Wait — he _chose_ to stay away?”

“Yuh-huh. Your mom was _furious._ So much that she swore Gohan would never fight again.”

“But...he did fight, right?”

“Yep.”

“And mom was...okay with it?”

“Oh, no!” Krillin burst out laughing, almost a little maniacally, then quickly quieted himself so he wouldn’t wake Seeda. “No, no. Not even a little bit.”

“So why did he?“

“Well, sometimes you have to do the right thing no matter what anyone says.”

Goten thought for a moment, trying his best to imagine Gohan being able to lie effectively to their mother. But as incredulous as he had been at first, he was quick to accept what Krillin was saying — he knew Gohan wouldn’t sit back while people were in danger, even if there was now a tiny part of him that wished he would have twenty years ago.

 

By the time they reached outskirts of Central City, the sun began to creep over the horizon, peeking out from behind fluffy white clouds. While the air was clear around them now, the closer they got to the city, the thicker it began to feel until Goten could clearly see the heavy smog billowing into the sky from massive structures. Krillin was careful to keep their distance, but didn’t risk suspicion by leaving the main road as he did. There were smatterings of people working in fields alongside the roads, most of them looking like no more than simple farmers, and Goten couldn’t help but to stare. Just as he could start to better make out the shape of the city buildings, he felt the car begin to slow down as Krillin pulled over to the side of the road.

“There’s a roadblock up there,” he said, warily. “Damn! I should have known this might happen.”

“Can’t we avoid them?” Goten asked.

“Not unless we want to look real suspicious driving through that field,” Krillin said, sighing in frustration. “Oh man, what are we gonna do?”

“Leave the car and continue on foot,” Seeda said, calm as if the answer was obvious. “We don’t have any other choice.”

“It’ll take us even longer to get to West City on foot,” Krillin argued.

“We’ll never get there if we get killed on the way,” she shot back.

“Seeda’s right — we can’t take any chances now,” Goten said, turning to look at them both. “And if we just sit here, someone’s bound to notice and come asking question.”

“Fine, we’ll walk,” Krillin said, defeated. “I’ll grab the food.”

They climbed out of the vehicle at the same time, each one grabbing a different bag and turning toward the fields to the left of them.

“If we cut through here, it should keep us out of sight for a while,” Seeda said as she led the way. Krillin and Goten followed after her, brushing past the tall stocks of green leaves and branches as they went. They walked almost blindly through the field, moving as quickly and quietly as they could to avoid being seen by one of the workers or guards they saw occasionally patrolling the area. They were lucky that the area was massive, the lush greenery providing them with plenty of cover to remain undetected.

It took until the hot sun was hanging high in the sky before they reached a clearing, and Goten stopped to look back at the distant outline of Central City. It was the closest he’d been to a city for so long that he couldn’t help but stare at it and wonder how big West City must be in comparison. Turning his attention back to the sky, he realized that he could feel that low hum in the back of his head again, somehow stronger than he had before.

Another hour passed, and the heat was starting to get to them. Goten had taken off his jacket and wrapped it around his middle, the black tank beneath still feeling too heavy to him. Krillin had taken taken off his shirt, with the top half of his gi hanging down by his waist. Seeda had rolled up her sleeves and the hem of her pants, occasionally reminding the two to take a drink of water from the large canteen she carried in her pack.

Finally they found shade underneath a lone tree, the three coming to a halt so they could eat and drink and try to stave off the smothering heat.

“Seeda,” Krillin started, cautiously. “You know, we could get there faster if we just—”

“Fine.”

“—I know you don’t want to! It’s alright if you’re afraid but—”

“I said fine.”

“—but this is important! We’re gonna roast out here and—”

“Krillin, I keep trying to tell you that I agree.”

“—I’m gonna put my foot down here and...wait, did you say—?”

“You’re right. We can’t continue like this, not in this heat. And...our mission is more important than my fear,” she said, though Goten could tell she wasn’t especially enthusiastic about her admission. If Krillin noticed, he gave no reaction to it.

“Yeah, alright! Don’t worry, we’ll keep out of sight and we’ll go a little slower so it’s not too scary. Goten, why don’t you take her first?”

Seeda nodded stiffly and then sighed as she set about adjusting her backpack. Goten handed off his bag and jacket to Krillin and turned to face Seeda, offering a wide smile in an attempt to help her relax.

“It’ll be okay — we’ll take breaks whenever you need to,” he assured. “But I bet you’ll like it once we get up there!”

She said nothing, just gave a weak half-smile in return and let out another deep breath before she stepped toward him, prompting him to turn around and crouch slightly. He remained still as she used his shoulders for leverage, pulling herself up to wrap her legs around his waist and let her arms wrap loosely around his neck. He hooked his arms under her knees, moving so that he could gently shift her till she felt secure on him. Goten could feel her trembling against him, her fingers clutching desperately to the fabric of his shirt.

“You tell me when you’re ready, okay?” Goten whispered, taking a few steps forward to help get her accustomed. He could feel her heartbeat hard on his back, her chest pressed so tightly against him that it felt like she was trying to melt into his body. The hot air certainly didn’t help matters, and he could feel her beginning to sweat until she finally nodded.

“I’m ready — let’s go.”

Goten shot one last glance back at Krillin and the pair began to ascend; he did so slowly, ignoring the way her fingernails dug into his skin through the cloth of his shirt, and didn’t stop until the were just below the clouds. If Seeda shook anymore, he was pretty sure she’d be able to levitate all on her own. She was practically vibrating against him and he offered a gentle squeeze to her leg to comfort her. He remained still in the air, not daring to move until she finally loosened her grip slightly and gave him another nod, then he carefully moved forward to follow after Krillin.

He sped up gradually, in an effort not to scare her more than she already was, but before long they were traveling at a steady speed.

“We’re making good time!” Krillin called back to them. “If I’m right, we’ll be there before the end of the day!”

“Yeah! I can’t wait! You told our friend we were coming, right?” Goten called back.

“Yep! They said they already made arrangements to get us in — we just have to head to the north side of the city and wait!”

As Krillin was speaking, Goten was struck with how real everything felt all of a sudden. Before, he just did his work on the outside, fighting smaller groups of Frieza’s Forces who got too close to the villages they were protecting. But now, he was about to walk into the heart of the conqueror’s operations, to a city _full_ of soldiers. And not to mention, where Frieza himself was.

“Say — have you ever met them?” Goten asked, speeding up just enough to catch up to Krillin. Seeda tightened her grip on him at the change in speed and he squeezed her leg again to assure her he was being careful.

“Met who?” Krillin asked, then seemed to realize what he meant. “Oh, our friend? No, but I know they can be trusted! They were the ones who helped us get through to Char, remember?”

“Right, but he got caught during a meeting no one else was supposed to know about.”

“Trust me, Goten — they had nothing to do with that!”

“I hope you’re right,” he said, not entirely convinced. “I just don’t want to get into more than we bargained for when we get there.”

Goten wasn’t sure why Krillin had so much faith in someone he’d never met before, especially given how dangerous the situation they were in was. And _especially_ since they’d been betrayed once before by someone Krillin had trusted so thoroughly. But he supposed they didn’t have much choice, so he let it go — for now at least.

 

When West City finally came into view, Goten wasn’t prepared for just how breathtaking it would be. The city was _massive_ , much bigger than he could’ve imagined, and especially when compared to the others he’d seen. Even from a distance, Goten was awestruck by it; tall buildings layered on top of one another, reaching up and beyond the clouds, with roads twisting around them and stretching up into the sky as well. Some of them even floated on their own, which frankly kind of blew his mind.

But as they got closer, a sharp feeling suddenly shot through him, and both he and Krillin came to a halt. The abrupt stop surprised Seeda enough to make her yelp and cling to Goten even tighter, but he hardly noticed. An immense power was crashing over him in waves, a feeling he hadn’t sensed in...well, he wasn’t sure how long it’d been. It was like that low hum had turned into a loud roar, overwhelming him in every way, and yet it still felt so _familiar._

“I-I know that ki!” Krillin said, in shock. “That’s _Vegeta_!”

Vegeta?!  Goten’s jaw dropped as a rush of memories swept over him; a fierce man with spiky black hair, always glaring, always silently judging everyone around him. Powerful and intimidating, and every bit his own dad’s opposite. The shock of knowing he was alive after all sent his mind reeling, but he could tell that whatever the saiyan was doing, it wasn’t good.

“Come on! We should go help—”

A bright flash of white blinded them instantly, followed up by an explosion that drowned out their surprised yells, and all at once that immense power felt like it had been snuffed out. Krillin yelled out in anger, and Goten felt himself move forward instinctively, almost desperate to rush to Vegeta’s aid. But he was stopped short — Krillin was holding him by the ankle, preventing him from going any further.

“Goten — stop! T-there’s nothing we can do!”

“But if that’s really Vegeta, then we need to go help him!”

“No! What if he’s fighting Frieza? We’d just get in the way! We’re no match for him, Goten, use your head here!”

Goten struggled with himself for a moment. He thought back to a time when Buu was corrupted by evil, when Vegeta saved his and Trunks’ lives, then sacrificed his own to save the world. He’d spent a good portion of his childhood in the Briefs’ household, and while Vegeta wasn’t an especially _kind_ man, Goten was basically half-raised under his roof and had been entirely comfortable in his presence. He’d seen more of Trunks’ father than he had his own, for kami’s sake! Every part of him wanted to ignore Krillin and go help, but then he felt a light squeeze and was reminded of Seeda’s presence.

“Krillin’s right,” she whispered, her voice gentle and calm but firm all the same. “We’d be walking into our own graves. And we came here to do a job.”

Reluctantly, he forced himself to power down, his hands shaking from the adrenaline. He focused for only a moment just to confirm that Vegeta wasn’t dead yet, and was relieved to still feel the saiyan’s ki. It was faint, but it was there — for now.

The three chose a small pocket of trees just north of the city  to conceal themselves in as they came back to earth, Seeda sliding off of Goten’s back and wobbling away to collect herself. Krillin and Goten set about retrieving some food in silence, eating and drinking without saying a single word to one another.

Seeda returned and sat next to Goten, who offered the water canteen out to her. She took it with a grateful nod and drank long from, and Goten suddenly realized how long they’d flown without stopping.

“I’m sorry I forgot to give you a break,” he said. “I guess I got a little distracted up there.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I can’t say it _cured_ my aversion to heights, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

Goten beamed at that, and let out a happy laugh. “Hey, what did I tell you? Who knows — maybe you’ll wanna fly yourself!”

“Probably not,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure thing.”

“Who is Vegeta?”

The laughter died off at her question, and a frown shadowed Goten’s face once more.

“He’s a...an old friend of my dad’s,” he said, then paused. “Sort of, I mean. They weren’t really _friends_ , I guess, but — well, anyway, I used to be really close with his son when we were kids. He and my dad disappeared when Frieza came.”

There was a beat of silence between, unsaid words hanging in the air between them before Seeda reached a hand out to place on his shoulder, her fingers pressing into his skin. “I’m sorry.” It was all she needed to say and Goten felt a weight peel off of him slowly.

She took her leave then, standing up and making her way to Krillin’s side to speak with him, and Goten took a moment to appreciate her. Everyone they knew had lost so much over the years, and yet in spite of her own grief, Seeda always found the time to speak to others, to let them know she felt their pain and that she cared for them. It was one of the reasons he looked up to her, and hoped that he too could bring that kind of comfort to others one day — though a part of him doubted he would do it half as gracefully as she could.

Once all three had gathered themselves, they cautiously made their way closer to the city, taking great care not to be seen by the patrolling guards, who were quite understandably on high alert. But when they arrived at the agreed destination, they found...nothing. No drop off package, no one waiting for them. At first, Krillin reasoned that Vegeta had probably derailed their plans, that their friend was held up but would be there any moment. When the moments turned to minutes, then to over an hour, Goten started to worry a bit.

And then, right when their anxiety had just about convinced them to bail before they were caught, Krillin’s communicator went off and he stared at the little screen, a surprised look crossing his features as he read the words he’d been sent.

“They’re coordinates, and a pass code to enter the city unrestricted,” he explained to Seeda and Goten’s curious faces.

“They...want us to go inside?” Seeda asked, clearly confused.

“Not just that — they want us to go inside and head _up_.”

Seeda’s lips thinned at his words as she visibly stiffened, while Goten himself didn’t really grasp the significance of the order. Thankfully, Krillin seemed to notice Goten’s bewilderment, and turned to speak to him directly.

“The higher up we go, the higher up everyone there is —”

“And the closer to Frieza we get,” Seeda added, her voice strained.

“Why would they want us to do that?” Goten asked, now completely unsure about this so-called friend’s intentions. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

Krillin shook his head. “No, definitely not. But they have to know how dangerous this is — it’s not like we can just waltz around up there.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t look the part,” Seeda said, pointedly motioning between the three of them. “We’d stand out too much.”

“I’m going to tell them we can’t do that,” Krillin said as he began typing away. He pressed a button and then let out a weary sigh. “It’s suicide and—” The beeping from his communicator interrupted him and he looked down before nearly dropping it in shock.

“W-what the hell?!” he yelped.

“What? What’d they say?” Goten said, fearing the worst. Maybe their friend had turned on them. Maybe they were sending guards there now and they were just giving Krillin a courtesy heads up! The longer it took for Krillin to send another message and finally acknowledge the two near-panicked people in front of him, the more terrifying Goten’s assumptions became.

“They say they have Vegeta,” he said. “And they want us to get him out.”

Oh boy. Yeah. This was definitely more than they bargained for.


	12. True Colors

“Just give up,” he said, exasperated and with heavy breaths that made his chest ache. Trunks hovered in place in the air above the science division building and watched his father crash into a platform below. He took a moment to look back down where Pasley was, and waited until she gave him a wave to indicate she was alright before he turned his attention back to see his father powering up again. He thought about the way it sounded when Pasley’s hands had been broken in his father’s grasp and felt the anger surging up inside him again. “Stubborn jackass.”

So far, it had been as brutal as he figured it would be, though he hadn’t expected the man to hold back as much as he was. He remembered his father as a proud warrior who loved a good fight, loved to draw them out so that he could satisfy his desire for a real battle. And yet right now it was as if he was trying to end their fight quickly, like he was trying to just shake Trunks off and toss him aside. He didn’t even bother to turn super saiyan until the very end, and by that point, Trunks could tell he was just getting impatient as he charged back up at him and threw him into a wall with a savage punch to the face that _almost_ succeeding in knocking him out.

Dazed, Trunks realized that Vegeta had him cornered just as he had thrown his knee into the boy’s chest and broken a few ribs that tore the air from his lungs and made it difficult to catch his breath again, let alone cough up the blood that had begun pooling in his mouth. He raised his head to stare up at Vegeta through furious eyes, silently daring him to take the shot, _urging him_ to finish it as blood slipped through the corner of his lips. But if he was anything at all, he was definitely his father’s son through and through, whether he liked it or not. So when he saw that Vegeta’s resolve had faltered, that he’d allowed himself a moment of weakness as he stared into his son’s eyes, Trunks seized the opportunity for himself.

Indistinct whispers filled his mind and he felt a deep rumbling beneath his skin, and all at once a surge of powerful energy suddenly erupted from somewhere within him, overwhelming him with its ferocity, and he shot a blinding light out to strike his father with a savage yell. The light tore through Vegeta’s body, hitting him just above his heart and damaging the building behind him. A stunned look crossed his face as the blue faded from his hair, and for a moment Trunks could see a ball of energy forming in one shaking hand before it vanished and he began his descent to the city below.

Trunks watched indifferently as the man crashed through one of the levitating platforms before disappearing from view, but knew that he must have landed somewhere near the elites. He waited a moment to feel for his father’s ki, and once he was satisfied with its weakness, he allowed himself to settle his own ki. He was certain the man was near death, but that would at least make it easier to bring him before Lord Frieza. Trunks glanced down at his communicator when it alerted him to a new message, directing him to apprehend Vegeta and wait for Captain Almone’s arrival. He grit his teeth at the message, knowing full well that she’d likely be taking the credit for the saiyan’s defeat. If she did, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He’d worry about it later — for right now, he had to find his father, and so he followed his trail down to the pristine buildings below.

Being an elite meant you were near the top of the food chain Frieza had created, complete with special privileges and luxuries no one else was allowed, but it wasn’t like the people here were normal civilians either. Most elites were made up of Frieza’s Forces, like Captain Almone and the soldiers of the Honor Guard, and their families. A few exceptions were made for a few people — his sister and Marron were considered elite of course, as were few others who proved vital to Frieza’s greater plan to keep the populace in line. It made sense, then, that most of them didn’t seem to care about the fight that had taken place above them.

He had been distracted for too long, it seemed, because Trunks found the small crater his father had made upon impact, he was quickly annoyed to discover the man seemed to have disappeared. A small trail of blood had initially indicated where he’d gone, but that too vanished after a certain point. Trunks reached out and tried to feel for his ki, focusing hard enough to drown out the others that swam around him, and found nothing. Either his corpse had picked itself up and left, or he was able to hide his ki and keep himself alive long enough to take off. Either way, he was going to be in deep shit for losing him.

 _Shit._ There was no way he was able to just get up and limp away with that kind of injury, even if Trunks could imagine his father being the sort to throw in the towel and walk away. If he didn’t find the man, and soon, there’d be hell to pay.

“Briefs. Report.” Almone landed on the other side of the crater, dressed in her worn battle gear and looking thoroughly annoyed, as per usual. Trunks straightened as much as his broken bones would allow and gave her a salute.

“Apologies, ma’am. I...I failed — he escaped, though he’s wounded and probably can’t get far.”

“Probably?” she said, sounding quite unimpressed. Almone eyed him for a moment, taking in the wounds that decorated his body before she gave a curt nod and turned to Commander Ryce.

“Search the area and find the saiyan. _Do not_ fail Lord Frieza.”

Ryce saluted her and took his leave, barking out commands to the group of Honor Guard soldiers he had with him. Almone returned her attention to Trunks and waited until the others were out of earshot before she continued.

“Your orders were to capture the saiyan and bring him before Lord Frieza,” she started, her voice sharp. “But...he recognizes your service and has granted you a boon as reward for your loyalty.”

Trunks hadn’t known what to expect when Almone landed before him, but it certainly wasn’t _that._ In his mind, he’d failed just as she said he did and yet he was being...rewarded? For what? For _almost_ succeeding in his assignment? It seemed entirely unlike Frieza to reward such a failure, yet he couldn’t deny the hum of pride from sweeping over him. He must have done something right to earn such generosity.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m eternally grateful,” he said, bending into a low bow even as his injuries resisted the action. When he stood straight again, he realized she hadn’t moved at all, hadn’t even changed the way she watched him closely, like she was...waiting. Then, as he waited to be permitted to leave so that he could bask in the contentment he felt, she spoke again.

“Oh, and...your sister has requested your presence when you’re able. You’re dismissed.”

 

The last time he’d spoken to Bulla, she seemed utterly and completely _bored_ by everything he said, like she had better things to do than speak to her own brother. They’d never been close — not that they’d ever really had the chance — and she made it pretty clear that she wanted very little to do with him. So it was of some wonder why she’d suddenly _want_ to speak to him after years of complete silence, especially right after his fight with their father, and also  _especially_ since she was one of the few people he knew of that was even allowed to make such requests and have them granted almost immediately. Pain distracted him from his thoughts as he winced and tightened his jaw against the dull throbbing coming from his chest, where bruises had formed as testament to his father’s brutal strikes.

It’d been a day since their fight and he’d only been to the med bay for as long as he needed to heal the more serious injuries — Dr. Savo had warned him that some would take a little longer than others, and had insisted that he stay to complete the healing process, but Trunks declined. Seeing Bulla was a rarity enough as it was; seeing Bulla _at her request_ was just downright unheard of, and curiosity demanded to know why. He’d already spent far too much time trying to figure out what she could possibly want with him after years of successfully ignoring his existence.

On the way back to the elite district, Trunks took note of how quickly the city had set about repairing the damage from the fight — the platform leading to the science division had already been replaced and the buildings they’d crashed through or damaged with ki blasts had been fixed as if nothing that ever happened to them. He imagined that most people would be talking about it for only a few days before something else came along to distract them.

In those twenty-four hours, news had broken out that his mother was a traitor and that the mysterious stranger he’d fought was a terrorist she conspired with, but _he_ had defied her and remained loyal. The narrative was an effective one, and he found himself the center of quite a lot of back slaps and “good job”s. But he’d be lying if he tried to claim that his mother’s inexplicable disappearance had affected him more than he’d expected; it only served to intensify his resentment for his father, who he still hadn’t heard any official status reports on yet. Either he was dead, or he’d managed to escape after all.

Neither situation was ideal, if he was being entirely honest, but he pushed the thought aside.

Bulla had her own home that she’d been granted when she turned eighteen, and access was heavily restricted but Trunks had been permitted almost instantly. The residence itself was far more opulent than his own — washed out white walls and high vaulted ceilings provided a stark contrast to the black and purple furniture, with chandeliers and a staircase that twisted itself upward to the next floor. She’d certainly taken full advantage of her privilege, and Trunks felt the slight pang of jealousy that arose when he realized Frieza himself must have made visits here given the sight of a specially built pod sitting near the door. Somehow, she was still _someone’s_ favorite, even with everything that had happened.

Trunks only waited at the doorway for a short time before he caught sight of his sister coming down the stairs, her hair nearly matching his own in color as the white hair dye seemed to be fading away. She was wearing a black leotard and skirt, both made from a material he recognized as the same kind their mother used for their battle armor, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she knew that herself or if she just liked the way it looked.

“It’s been a while, big brother,” she said, offering a pleasant smile.

“Yeah, it has,” he agreed before stepping further into the home and following her to the kitchen when she motioned for him. “What’s the occasion?”

“I heard you’re moving up in the world and I wanted to congratulate you in person,” she continued as she walked around the island sitting in the middle of her kitchen. The surface was white and made from marble, while its foundations and chairs were made from some type of deep black stone he was certain was alien. “Why? Do I _need_ a special occasion to be proud of my older brother?”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Again, they’d never really been that close, and they’d certainly never spent much time together before. He couldn’t help the way his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her pour two glasses of a strong smelling liquid and slide one across the counter toward him. Bulla met his stare and dropped her shoulders, allowing her eyes to roll dramatically as she reached forward and took a sip from the glass she had offered him.

“See? It’s just wine — poison free, I promise,” she said, teasingly as she set it back down in front of him. He cleared his throat and picked it up, staring down at the black liquid and wrinkling his nose at it. Somehow, it was literally sparkling, the liquid shifting in the glass even when he wasn’t moving, giving it the appearance of a starry night sky.

“This is wine?” he asked, unable to hide his skepticism.

“It comes from Frieza Planet 189 — it’s one of my favorites,” she said, swirling her glass around before taking a long drink of her own. “Just try it.”

He shrugged and brought it to his lips to take a sip, but the bitterness of the drink surprised him and he sputtered into the glass, causing more of it to splash back and up his nose. It stung to the taste and burned his nose to smell, and he could hear Bulla’s laughter as she watched him fail to contain his coughing, the pain from his ribs making it even more difficult.

“Guess you _wouldn’t_ be able to handle something so fine,” she said, clearly amused at his struggle. “They must give you guys crap.”

“Or —” he said, pushing the glass back toward her, which she took and gulped down far too quickly for his comfort, “— that’s just not very good.”

“Hmm, it’s more likely that you’ve never known good taste before,” Bulla said coyly as she turned away and produced a second bottle, this time with brown liquid inside. “This may be more to your liking.”

Trunks took it as soon as she was done pouring and cautiously took a sniff. It didn’t smell nearly as strong or as acidic as the other one, but it also didn’t smell especially _good_ either. Still, she was watching him expectantly and so he forced himself to take a quick sip, bracing himself for another kick to his taste buds. Instead, however, he was surprised when it tasted so...sweet. Almost like it was more of a juice than any kind of alcohol.

“What’s this stuff?” he said, taken aback by how different it tasted versus its scent.

“Comes from Frieza Planet...Oh, I don’t remember. Somewhere jungle-y or whatever. You’d have to ask _him_.” she said with a dismissive shrug. She’d given herself a decent amount and downed it quickly, then refilled both their glasses as soon as his ran out. 

“It’s not my favorite. Far too sweet for me, actually, but it’s fine I guess,” she said. They sat there making idle chit chat for a while, taking turns drinking glass after glass until the bottle was empty and she had to dig up another identical one, and Trunks could feel his cheeks warming with every sip he took. Then, out of nowhere, she spoke up again. “So — who was that?”

“Who was who?”

“The guy you were fighting.”

Trunks paused, wavering slightly as he considered what she was asking. Maybe it was the circumstances of how their lives had turned out, but sometimes Trunks really did forget that she’d never actually known their father. He’d disappeared before she was even old enough to properly remember him, so of course it made sense she wouldn’t know what he looked like, or what his ki felt like.  

“No one’s told you?” he asked, to which she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“No, and Lord Frieza’s off-planet.” She’d shared the fact so casually that it took him quite aback. _No one_ was supposed to know that, certainly not some soldier in the Armored Forces, and he felt a hint of panic creep into the forefront of his brain.

“Calm down,” she said, dismissively waving her hand. “It’s not like you’re going to tell anyone, right?”

“Why would you—”

“You’re my brother, and you’ve already proven your loyalty. Now tell me who you were fighting.” It sounded more like a demand now, her tone sharp and quick and entirely similar to the way Frieza himself spoke. In the back of his mind, he was aware of the pod that still hovered near the door. He didn’t want to anger her, or risk angering Frieza, but if no one had told _her_ — arguably one of his most valuable servants —  _surely_ there was a reason.

“A saiyan,” he said, finally settling on a certain truth. 

“Like us?”

“No. He came here to find a way to destroy Frieza.” There was a pause where he was content to let the conversation end. Bulla leaned forward across the counter, eyes locked onto his face as she did.

“And?” she pressed, her voice insistent.

“And he failed,” he replied.

“You don’t know his name?”

Trunks offered a shrug and took another long drink of the sweet wine. He didn’t particularly care for the way she was staring him down with the same hardened eyes he’d seen at the execution, but he stood his ground. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that their father had come back from the dead — or rather, had never died at all. But he was mildly impressed that she had actually tried to get him drunk enough to talk. She clearly didn’t know just how much alcohol it would take to intoxicate him, which was a bit surprising given how much she seemed to enjoy drinking based on how quickly she was downing her own glasses.

“Fine,” she said at last, the tension dissolving from her face almost immediately as she poured him another glass. She turned away and set about retrieving plates full of the most elaborate foods he’d ever seen before, humming along as she did. Trunks made a mental note to slow down on the alcohol, in case she decided to try again.

“Looks like whoever he was, he put up quite the fight,” Bulla said as she set down the food for the both of them. “You look pretty beat up.”

“Saiyans _are_ pretty strong,” he said, a little defensively.

“Well, I envy you.”

He almost choked to death right there. The very idea that she of all people could ever be envious of anyone was laughable at best, and a little insulting at worst. He questioned her by turning around in his chair, and making a show of looking around her living quarters, motioning toward it with wide waves of his arms.

“Are you serious?!” he asked, letting the insult he felt touch his voice.

“What?” she stared at him for a moment before letting out a small ‘oh’ and laughing. “No, not like that — kami knows I’d never want to _live_ like you.”

Yeah, that sounded about right for Bulla, but it also kind of stung that she said it so bluntly. He visibly calmed and shook his head, turning back to her. “So what _do_ you mean, then?”

“Sometimes I want to hit things too, you know,” she said, and hit her closed fist against the counter top for emphasis, grinning all the while. “Must be that half-saiyan in me.”

“You’d do more damage to yourself if _that’s_ how you try to hit something,” he said, cringing internally at the poor form.

“Then maybe you can teach me.”

 _Damn it_ , she did it again. She crossed an invisible line that she _knew_ she shouldn’t cross and she did it anyway. A shiver ran down his spine as he imagined what sort of punishment he’d be dealt if he even thought about agreeing, and couldn’t keep from glancing over his shoulder as if he expected to see Lord Frieza there himself.

“No,” he said firmly, turning back to shovel food in his mouth. He could tell she was still watching him — and, actually, why was everyone so interested in watching him so much lately? He felt like a caged animal under observation, and he hated that feeling.

“Suit yourself,” she said, piling on more food for herself before offering to do the same for Trunks. The two sat and ate in silence until they’d both effectively cleaned out every plate she had, and Trunks found himself engaging in some observation of his own. These moments where he got to see his sister were so rare that it felt a little...well, it was strange, frankly. They never had a chance to get close — she was a toddler when they were both separated, and so most of their interactions thereafter came through their mother.

The thought brought with it an ache in his chest, somewhere beneath all the bruises. He’d tried not to involve his mother, he’d tried to go in first and get her out and to safety before he took on his father. But the bastard had ruined that plan and left Trunks without any other options, other than relying on Pasley to get her out. Again though his father had interfered, and even gone so far as to wound Pasley enough to infuriate Trunks. Why the man couldn’t see that Trunks was only doing any of this to protect his mother and sister was beyond him — _he_ was the one that charged him with looking after them should anything happen to him, and something did happen to him. Who the hell was he to show up twenty-odd years later and throw all of Trunks’ hard work back in his face?

“You should probably get going,” Bulla said, twisting a piece of her lavender-tinted hair with her finger as she examined it closely. “It’s getting late, and I’m exhausted.”

 _From all that nothing you get to do all day?_ Trunks almost commented, but thought better of it. She’d definitely never want to see him again, and considering they would soon probably be all each other has, he didn’t want to take that chance of pissing her off.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, sliding off the stool and making his way for the door. He stopped before he exited and turned to see her disappearing up the stairs. A part of him felt almost guilty for not being honest with her about their father, but the rest of him reasoned that it’d probably just be unnecessary pain for her. Besides, she really _did_ get the better end of the deal between the two. Dragging her into all that drama with their parents would just ruin her life for the worse.

When Trunks returned to his own living quarters, he found himself both resenting and kind of missing his sister already. Talking to her had opened plenty of wounds both old and new that he’d been so sure he’d closed up, and now that he was alone, it left him feeling anxious. He stared over at the portable information screen sitting on his table and fired it up, searching for information about their mother — whether or not she’d be found or...or anything. But there was nothing, other than the ‘traitor wanted’ symbols that surrounded her name and picture.

“I tried to tell you,” he whispered to himself, closing his eyes against a swell of emotion in his chest. If she was out there, he knew it’d only be a matter of time before she was found. And maybe — if he was lucky, anyway — they’d let him see her before her execution. Sleep didn’t come easily to him that night with that thought, but there was something that resembled contentment somewhere in the back of his mind, comforting him with the knowledge that at the very least, _he_ was still loyal.


	13. Vivere Militare Est

A saiyan never holds back, no matter who or what they are facing. It was one of the first lessons he’d been taught as a child, when his father would brutally beat him as part of his training. Vegeta spoke of that time with such an admiration that his wife couldn’t wrap her head around, even as he explained that saiyans didn’t express emotion the way that earthlings did. That by doing what he did, the king was expressing a fondness for his child in the only way that was appropriate to their race. He supposed that it made sense such a thing would sound very odd to Bulma during one of the rare times he spoke of his father, given how sentimental the earthling herself was.

“But you were just a child!” she’d cried, weeping for a boy from a culture she never would have understood.

“It was our way,” he’d reasoned with a dismissive shrug before they proceeded to argue over what the appropriate age to begin training their son was. She’d only agreed on ‘walking age’ because he had worn her down (and maybe worn her _out_ ) to get his way.

Yet somehow, where his father had refused to hold back even a single punch, Vegeta found himself struggling with his own. When he’d taken Trunks with him to train, the boy had picked up on his lessons as quickly as Vegeta had expected of _his_ son. Of course he was a natural at it, and Vegeta swelled with pride that the boy’s saiyan heritage was so clearly imprinted into his DNA. But the first time Vegeta landed a punch on Trunks, the boy hadn’t reacted at all the way he’d expected, and Vegeta instead found an awful twisting in his chest in response. The way those blue eyes welled up with tears, how he tried to suppress his little whimpers and made so much effort to hide the pain in his face where Vegeta’s fist had connected…

Vegeta wondered if his father had felt the same. If the king too felt guilt roll around in his gut when he looked into his son’s eyes. Or if Vegeta’s new life had simply made him weak. _That damn woman had turned him so soft,_ he decided.

He still felt that same weakness inside him as he fought Trunks, though he did what he could to ignore it. This future — this damnable future — was all wrong and he was going to fix it, even if they didn’t have the Dragon Balls anymore. This future had also taken his son and twisted him into something else, something _other_ than his son, and he was going to fix that too. And yet…

A saiyan didn’t hold back, except he _did_.

He’d had three chances to put Trunks down, and none of those had come with the guarantee that the boy wouldn’t die. It was as if Trunks was intentionally putting him in these situations, as if he was trying to provoke him. If it were anyone else, the saiyan might not have thought twice — but this was _his son,_  with those same blue eyes, and he stopped himself all three times. He’d even broken the boy’s bones, had demanded he stay down and accept defeat. But whatever _they’d_ done to him made him come right back every time, like a good little soldier would, and the third time that Vegeta was close to ending it — he stopped. He _knew_ he hadn’t been given much choice, that what mattered was getting Bulma out so they could regroup, but...he couldn’t. He faltered in the moment and held back, and Trunks pounced on the opportunity, just as the saiyan prince would have in another life.

How incredibly appropriate that the boy would use his own attack against him. The blast shot through his shoulder, narrowly missing his heart, and the smell of blood and burning flesh immediately filled the air. Even as the pain seared through him, he felt the smallest twinge of pride in his chest before he crashed through two buildings and landed in concrete. He’d only barely managed to force himself to stand before he’d collapsed again on shaking legs. He stumbled out of the hole he’d created and tried to get his bearings, but the wetness of his blood was distracting him, and darkness was clawing at the edges of his consciousness.

He was vaguely aware of getting a few feet away from the crater before being grabbed by someone and pulled elsewhere rapidly. Vegeta fought them, his punches and kicks still dangerous despite his wound, but his body protested the sudden movement and all he could hear was his own heart pounding in his ears as whoever they were pressed something into his wound painfully. The agony was enough to enrage and subdue him effectively. A voice was talking to him, muffled and urgent and completely unintelligible to him in that moment. He wanted to tell them to shut up, that they were fools to speak to him like that, but he could only sputter in response, his tongue half-forming threats in a language that would die with him. They shoved something into his mouth and forced his jaw closed, and he swallowed whatever it was they gave him against his will. Whatever light was visible through his closed eyes vanished again as he allowed himself to slip out of awareness.

The next time the dim light came back, there was a pounding noise accosting his ears. It was loud and carried a rhythm he might have recognized as music if his hearing was just a bit more functional. It was so distracting that it alone seemed to be the only thing keeping him from giving into the long sleep. Wherever he was was so warm and inviting that he came to resent the its relentless rhythm. A feminine voice had entered his mind now, still as muffled as the one before it, but it sounded almost familiar to him at the same time.

 _Bulma? Bulma!_ He suddenly remembered that he had to get to Bulma, and so he was standing up again, dazed and angrily demanding to be released. His request was ignored, even as he punched at the large figure that approached him, causing them to fall backward onto the ground. Even in his state, he was still a force to be reckoned with, and he’d make damn sure they knew that. At least until he felt himself slip away again, the pain of torn flesh radiating from his wounded shoulder. _Son of a bitch._

At one point he felt slender arms wrapping underneath his own, forcing him to his feet and guiding his half-conscious form down a hallway. They were far smaller than him, almost tiny by comparison, yet still managed to be strong enough to practically carry his near-limp form all the way to some sort of compartment. Something smooth and plastic was shoved into his hands, a demand he didn’t understand was issued, and petite hands returned to his chest only to push him backward to fall into some unknown place. He blacked out again when he landed into something squishy and disgusting.

When he tried to awaken again, with blurry vision and aching limbs, he was being lifted out of his smelly grave. New voices were drilling into his ears now, his body was being moved and prodded and it caused shockwaves of pain to rock through him every time they touched the broken and bloody pieces. He struggled to find the strength to fight back against them, to kick them away from him so they would _stop hurting him_ but whoever subdued him did so easily. It didn’t take long to expend enough of his energy to fall back into the deep. But tempting as the unknown was, he knew he would not die today because he _refused_ to. Not when his wife needed him, and certainly not when his own children were being used as puppets to do _Frieza’s_ bidding.

The next time he came aware, things were far clearer. The air he breathed was dry and hot, and he could feel sweat beading all over his body. He looked down to find a large blood-soaked bandage covering where his wound would be, and yet he felt stronger than he had for the last...however long it had taken to open his eyes this time. Vegeta glared darkly as he thought back on how he got in this position at all, but pushed it aside as he rose to his feet. He was not dead, and that was what mattered. He would save his son, even if the brat kicked and screamed the entire time, and he would _remind him_ what it was to be saiyan. And now, he knew better than to hold back.


	14. Enemy of My Enemy

She was the great insult. There wasn’t any period of her life that she could remember when she _wasn’t_ reminded of the fact. To most people, all they saw was the image of a spoiled girl, Frieza’s favorite pet, singing and dancing on their screens, encouraging them to follow his every command, to fight and die for him. It was what she had been groomed for, and her title of “Saiyan Princess” was for mockery’s sake alone because Frieza needed her and everyone else to know what her father’s race had become — _a joke_. Not that she knew anything about him; her mother had never been permitted to speak of him except with vague recollections of a past that never held any meaning to her. So, she didn’t know the man’s name, or even what he looked like, but the insult always somehow managed to cut deep. 

Bulla was eight the first time she realized that there was more to her than she was told, when she fought back against the caretaker she’d been assigned and sent the woman flying across the room. After that, she was taken in for some kind of training and...she couldn’t recall what happened. She just remembered pain, and that she would never do it again. When she came back was when her work began; she and Marron were posited as the embodiment of the innocent lives to fight for, their small faces used as a daily reminder of what was at stake should anyone threaten their home. It was her first lesson in manipulation; the people were easily moved to sympathy, and Frieza took full advantage of it.

She had promised never to disobey again, except when she did, because when she was eleven, no one could tell her what to do. This time she was taken to training, again, and left knowing the fear of god deep in her bones, again. She still couldn’t recall what happened in that dark room, just that she never wanted to go back.

She was sixteen when she started listening to the hum in the back of her mind, started to reach for the tingling under her fingertips. Little lights dancing in the palm of her hand and she felt the danger in them. Commander Almone had walked in on her toying with the lights and this time she was taken to Lord Frieza himself. She felt pain again, and left with fear again. Fear and jewels — purple and gorgeous and woven into her hair — and the little lights never came back. Another lesson was learned: secrecy. 

Frieza’s presence became more dominant in her life as she grew, terrorizing her until she became numb from it. The older she got the more she respected his power enough not to provoke him, but she had a difficult time feeling true fear anymore. Perhaps his greatest folly was more or less severing whatever connection she might have had to her mother and brother, because even threats on their lives hardly affected her. Maybe she loved them, but honestly, she wasn’t even sure she knew what _that_ was. Marron mattered, though, because she was all the company she had been allowed to have consistently. Her only tether to things to care about.

Every single part of her life was decided by Frieza, through indifferent comments and bored insults. As she got older, so did the audience that grew up with her, and the approach changed until she and Marron were objects of desire. They became everything a young woman should want to be and everything a young man would want to protect. All they needed to do was _remain loyal_ and fight in Frieza’s name.

At nineteen, she learned patience. When she and Marron weren’t working, they were on Frieza’s ship. He often pointed to her as an example of what a Saiyan was now, and it was humiliating though she wasn’t entirely sure _why_ it affected her so much. But Frieza was good at that, good at humiliating her, and so she learned not to rise to the occasion. In time, she gained some modicum of...well, it wasn’t respect, but he started rewarding her more frequently. He talked to her openly, spoke to her like she was at the very least a useful thing rather than just a toy. Before long, she became his favorite pet, because she knew better than to be anything else, and she relished in it. When he touched her, he did so without pain now. Something inside her craved his approval, made her actively seek it out at every opportunity. 

Being the favorite meant she learned new lessons, was privy to things others weren’t — not even Almone. No more training was necessary since she never needed it anymore, because Frieza decided she had more than proven herself. He used her as he saw fit, and was sure to remind her just how far he had buried himself under her skin whenever he felt she was getting too comfortable. He also made sure to dole out attention and validation as he pleased, just enough to keep her at his side. Some part of her wanted to resent him for how much control he had, yet at the same time, Frieza was a remarkably charismatic being, and the two had come to something of an understanding. She served and learned under him, and he rewarded her for her service and seemed to enjoy her presence. In a way, she too came to genuinely care about him.

It was sick, and some part of her knew it. The rest of her had stopped caring.

Things changed one day aboard his ship, while she watched him torture some escaped slave from outside the cities. A scar faced man knew someone important, someone whose very name angered Frieza in a way she had never seen before. The man had information, but had sworn not to share it even as Frieza’s tail tightened around his throat. She had seen this scene so many times that she was almost falling asleep at the sight. But what caught Bulla’s attention was how he seemed to _refuse_ to look at her for as long as he could, and when he finally broke and his gaze landed on her face, he begged forgiveness before he confessed everything he knew to Frieza. Still, she had seen plenty of people break in Frieza’s presence, and so she felt nothing for him. No matter how he’d looked at her.

But that _name_ would burn itself into her skull, as did the look in Frieza’s eyes when the scar faced man had said it. It was as if something had broken inside of her, as if she had been trapped so long and then suddenly an escape appeared. So she reached out — quietly, in secret — until she found a way. She had to, because something about the name alone  _scared_ Frieza, and she was determined to find them. The scar faced man “escaped,” and he became her first contact. He was a way to send a quick warning to the ones whose connection to that name had angered Frieza so much he destroyed a collection of villages over it. The people they warned had survived, but they damned the scar faced man for his betrayal all the same. So sure, a lot of people died but they hadn’t, so Bulla couldn’t quite understand their outrage. Maybe she was just too numb to it now.

She was a woman now, fully grown into her own as both loyal servant and quiet dissenter, and an _excellent_ liar. She kept it simple: she already came off naturally friendly and personable, bubbly and flirtatious to everyone around her. It wasn’t difficult to sell the rest of the image of a wild, carefree woman who lived a life most people could only dream of. Almost all of the younger people in the upper districts gravitated towards her, eager to earn some recognition from Frieza’s favorite. All the while, between parties and loud music, she was working against the very society she helped to maintain. 

The scar faced man was named Yamcha and he had known her parents — she never asked about them, though, because she knew her mother could do nothing and a corpse less so. Through him, her network grew. The one man became two people, then three, and so on. But none of them knew who was directing any of it, none of them were aware of the person behind the warnings and coordinates — except Yamcha. He handled most of it in secret, hiding in plain sight within the city, and acted on her behalf. He was her friend — he was one of her only friends, in fact, besides Marron, who wholeheartedly agreed to assist the moment she brought it up. They met Char, knew where his sympathies were, and three became four. They would dismantle the rule from within — and then Char was found out, and executed. Now, Marron wasn’t as enthusiastic anymore.

Then the celebrations were interrupted when her brother fought _the saiyan._  She’d thought nothing of it, other than to reflect back on all the stories she’d heard of Frieza’s destruction of their home world. Yamcha showed up at her window with a blood soaked man with spiky black hair thrown over his shoulder. He had no choice, he’d said as she secreted him inside. Neither did she, because every time her bones ached she knew she was doing the correct thing. All of the chaos outside was enough to ensure no one realized where the man had gone, and no one would ever have thought to check her home.

For now, she had found the enemy of her enemy, and that was all that mattered.

The unconscious man in her bed had stopped bleeding after hours of shoving medipills one after another down his throat. They weren’t as effective as a full healing tank, but they would manage to mostly seal up the internal damage from his wound, and keep him alive long enough to heal on his own. He’d been surprisingly able enough to fight them — Yamcha had been punched so hard he flew back into her closet doors and broke them clean off their rails — though the effort exhausted him enough to subdue him again.

Bulla sat by the bed and watched him as his breathing went from uneven to steady, and though she still wasn’t completely sure who he was, she knew his very existence sent Frieza into a fury. He’d been delighted to specifically send her brother who, while certainly very strong, wasn’t even in the Honor Guard to take him down. She stared at his face for a long time, trying to jog a memory she didn’t have before she turned to Yamcha as he sat in the corner of the room, his eyes locked onto the man with a mix of anger, resentment, and something else she couldn’t identify.

Trunks wasn’t a bad guy, he was just a better soldier. She’d tried to get him to break just enough to tell her _anything_ about the man, but he wouldn’t budge beyond confirming he was a Saiyan. She supposed she couldn’t blame him — it wasn't like they were particularly close, anyway, so it would’ve been like sharing information with a stranger. But the way Yamcha was looking at him, and the fact that he had once been very close with her mother, had her zeroing her sights on _him_ for the information she wanted.

“I thought Saiyans were supposed to be scary,” she said, absently toying with the ends of her long braid as she did.

“Trust me — you have no idea,” he said, and she knew she’d struck something but then quickly shifted himself. “He hit me when I went to pick him up, I mean.”

“Do you know him?” she asked, taking a drink from the black wine she’d brought upstairs with her before offering it out to him.

“I used to,” he admitted but then shook his head and looked directly at her. “Sorry, Little B, but I can’t say anything else. It’s not my place, and...I’m not sure you’d want to know.”

Being treated like glass was one of her least favorite side-effects of being seen as a _princess_ , even if it did mean she was often underestimated. But Yamcha knew her well enough by now to know he didn’t need to do that, and so it was a bit more frustrating to receive the treatment from him of all people. For now, however, she knew she’d have plenty of time to probe him for information when they didn’t have a nearly-dead Saiyan on her bed — Frieza was due back any hour, and the message she’d sent the night before only gave them so much time to get the Saiyan out of the city before he returned.

“Heard anything yet?”

“Yeah. They should be pretty close to the pick up site.”

“That’s good,” she leaned closer to the man, then took a peek underneath the bandage. He was bleeding again, but one more medipill would likely do the trick and speed up his healing. “Do me a favor and go on ahead for me. Make sure they have a clear path.”

“Are you sure? I can take him with me,” Yamcha said, though he didn’t sound particularly invested in the offer. “And he’s pretty heavy.”

“I can handle it,” she said as she retrieved another medipill. “You’d better head out.”

Yamcha took the bloodied sheets with him when he left, and Bulla retrieved a small plastic container full of capsules from under her bed. She stuffed it into the lining of her top and returned to the Saiyan’s side, bending down again to force another pill down his throat. He’d likely be completely healed up in just a couple of days, though she did briefly wonder if it was at all possible to overdose on medipills. Too late now, anyway.

The jewels in her hair may have kept her from those lights, but they had done nothing to affect her strength. Bulla carefully sat him up and slipped her arms underneath his to pull him to his feet, and while it wasn’t _easy,_  it had been doable. He groaned as all his weight fell against her and she had to shift herself to keep him steady. He seemed at least conscious enough to try and walk, though his steps were inconsistent and shaky, and she grabbed the wine as she carefully walked him down the hallway until she reached the hidden door in her wall. A safety measure installed only in the event of an emergency, one that would send an alert to Captain Almone once she opened it. It was also the safest way out of the elite district.

She opened it and had to almost wrestle him into sitting inside, mentally counting down the time until Almone and her men would likely arrive. Bulla pulled the plastic container out and shoved it into his hand, closing his fingers around it as tightly as she could make him.

“ _Don’t_ drop that,” she demanded. He made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a groan, and she smirked at the effort. “And try not to die, buddy.”

With that, she pressed both hands into his chest and pushed, then quickly reached down to grab the half-full bottle of wine and slam it against the door just as she heard Almone arrive.

“Heyyyy, I’m soooo sorry!” she slurred loudly as the soldiers were bounding up the stairs. “I got’a little mad an’ threw it!”

Almone probably wanted nothing more than to slap her in that moment, and Bulla could see the irritation seething from her. It had certainly not been the first time she gotten drunk and thrown things around her home, but those times had come from a need to release some of that pent up aggression. Those gosh darned saiyan genes and all that, which made this her _favorite_ game to play.

“With all due respect, _miss_ ,” she began through gritted teeth. “You should know better.”

“Shh — you won’ tell Lord Freezer will you? I jus’ — I jus’ miss him a lot,” she pleaded, grasping at Almone’s arm. The woman pulled her hand away as if Bulla had attempted to bite her, and Bulla offered her a bright smile. “Oops! Sorryyyy, I know you hate bein’ touched.”

But they both knew that wasn’t true. There was, however, a very strict and heavily enforced  _Do Not Touch the Girls_ rule in place, however, so the flash of panic in Almone’s face was very much warranted. Bulla relished in frightening the unshakable captain, and she had a feeling Almone knew she had done so on purpose. They searched her home before they left, questioned her about her broken closet to which she only wailed in frustration that they were being mean to her, that she couldn’t _help_ that she was so strong. Almone drew out the search, taking close inspection of the garbage chute before she seemed to reluctantly believe that Bulla was just having a messy drunk kind of night.

By the time she’d left, Bulla had received confirmation that the three outsiders had successfully smuggled the Saiyan out of the city — though K had included a name in his message.

 _Vegeta?_  She re-read the name again, utterly baffled. _What a totally weird, geeky name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the note; as I said, I try not to write these. If this one seems disjointed, it is because while I left most things to the imagination, I still found it difficult to write. I would appreciate feedback on this one, as Bulla has taken the biggest deviation in character from the source material. I am mostly attempting to channel a "Vegeta pre-Woman" vibe without giving her the ability to physically fight back.


	15. Get Well Soon

It hadn’t been too long since the last time Goten had seen Yamcha. The man had been traveling with them for almost twenty years after Frieza’s arrival on earth, and had been the optimistic foil to Chi-Chi’s doom and gloom. He’d helped to pick up the pieces Gohan’s death had left behind, had been there to support Bulma in raising Bulla and Trunks, and grieved with them when she willingly went to West City to serve Frieza in exchange for her children’s lives. He’d always been so strong for them, had been the _reason_ they’d even escaped slavery when they’d been captured and sent to Satan City.

And then one day, he failed. He got captured and he told Frieza everything he wanted to know, leading to the deaths of hundreds of innocent people when Frieza’s Forces came to kill him and his mother. His last minute warning was all they had to make it out alive, and even then, it was by the skin of their teeth. Even if he had ultimately saved them, that the betrayal happened at all had put a sour taste in their mouths. Or maybe it was all the dead bodies they’d been forced to hide among.

When Goten found himself face to face with Yamcha for the first time since that event four years ago, that hurt came rising back up into him. He struggled with even looking Yamcha in the eye, though it hadn’t slipped past him just how much the man had changed — his hair had become much grayer in recent years, and the lines in his face had become more prominent. Despite his reluctance to do so, the three had followed him into West City, weaving their way through crowds and ducking any prying eyes that might fall on them, until Yamcha brought them to a collection of dumpsters that smelled so bad Goten gagged the entire time they were there.

They struggled a moment to find and fish out Vegeta, who immediately attempted to fight them off of him. Something small and plastic fell from his hands, which Yamcha was quick to scoop up before they got too distracted in the scuffle. Somehow, despite his condition, Vegeta managed to put up enough of a fight to force Goten to wrap him into an almost bear-like hug from behind, squeezing his wound unintentionally and causing the man pain every time he tried to move. It was enough to make him stop, at the very least, and they began their slow escape from there.

It took them nearly two hours to make it out without being seen, with Yamcha leading the way. Goten kept hold of Vegeta’s upper body with Krillin holding his legs, in case he managed to wake up and decide he wanted to fight them again. Seeda trailed behind them, occasionally catching up to check Vegeta’s vitals as they went. By the time they’d made it out of West City, dawn was quickly approaching them. They stopped only long enough for Goten to hand Vegeta off to Yamcha and Krillin and let Seeda hop on his back so they could fly from the city, going until they found a relatively hidden patch of woods a few miles away.

As soon as they landed, Yamcha set Vegeta down and retrieved something from his pocket — that plastic container Vegeta had dropped. Goten watched as he opened it and eyed the contents for a moment before closing it and turning to Goten.

“These are from your friend in the city,” he said, offering it out to him. “There’s two vehicles, a capsule house, and some medical supplies in there. Be careful where you use them, okay? It’s all city made, so if someone sees it they might ask where you got it from.”

Goten took the container and turned it over in his hand before nodding to Yamcha. “Thank you,” he said, cordially. Yamcha paused and looked like he wanted to say something else, before letting out a sigh and looking back to Krillin, who was busy holding up Vegeta while Seeda unwrapped his bandage.

“You shouldn’t stay near here. They’re gonna be looking for Vegeta,” he said. “Head for South City as soon as you can.”

“What?” Krillin looked up from where he was still holding Vegeta upright. “Last time I checked, that whole area got wiped out.”

“They’ve been rebuilding in secret,” he said. “Frieza’s got no interest in the place, so for right now it’s gonna be your safest bet.”

“Doesn’t hurt that it’s so far away,” Goten said, speaking up for the first time since they’d come into contact with Yamcha. Both Yamcha and Krillin looked at him in surprise and he crossed his arms. “But I also need to go get my mom.”

“Chi-Chi can take care of herself,” Yamcha said. “I mean, she always has. We used to do this kinda thing all the time, you know?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna do that anymore,” Goten said, defensively.

“Hey, Goten,” Krillin interrupted Yamcha before he could speak. “Listen — sometimes we gotta make sacrifices for the greater good.”

“Are you crazy?! I’m not gonna sacrifice my mom!” Goten said, a little horrified at the apparent suggestion.

“Whoa, not like  _that_!” Krillin floundered and nearly dropped Vegeta, who grunted angrily at the sudden movement. “Come on, Goten, you know what I mean!”

“Stop it!” Seeda said suddenly, her stern voice cutting off whatever Goten wanted to say next. “We don’t have time for this. Goten, I’m...I’m sorry, but we have to get to South City as soon as possible, before Frieza finds us. We can contact Elo and let him know where we’re at, and he can bring Chi-Chi to us.”

Goten fell silent as he considered her words. He knew that if Seeda was saying it, then that was probably the most logical course of action, and he couldn’t help but resent her a little for it. She returned to redressing Vegeta’s wound with new bandages, blood soaking into the white cloth almost instantly, and he knew they’d probably need a couple of days for Vegeta to heal anyway.

“Alright, alright,” he said, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his head. “You guys win...we’ll head for South City.”

Yamcha nodded, then glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the city, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. “I should probably get gone for a little while,” he said and Goten felt himself bristle, silently hoping he wasn’t about to suggest traveling with them.

“Where you heading off to?” Krillin said.

“Probably Yahhoy for a bit, then I’ll figure out a way back to West City,” Yamcha replied, and Goten relaxed. He felt a slight tug of guilt at the thought of dreading Yamcha’s company, but at the same time...no matter how close he was with his dad in the past, all that changed when he got all those people killed.

His departure was unceremonious, and the three took another few minutes to regroup before they popped the car capsule open and set off. For the first few hours of their drive, Goten found himself completely incapable of staying focused.

Seeing Vegeta again had opened a floodgate of memories for him, of a childhood that he only sort of remembered most of the time and yet right now it all seemed so clear. As if having Vegeta nearby was a trigger for his mind, and he was suddenly able to remember things he’d long since forgotten. The days he’d spent over at the Briefs household, when he and Trunks would get into some wild mischief or another — or, rather, when Trunks would come up with a new game and Goten would go along with it, only for it to usually end with a very annoyed saiyan yelling at them.

But even with the memories returning to him so vividly, he couldn’t fight back the feeling of melancholy that washed over him. He was glad to see Vegeta again, that much was true, but if Vegeta had come back, why hadn’t his own father? Or...had he and they just didn’t know it yet? Goten shook his head at the thought and decided now wasn’t really the time. Everyone already seemed to have a lot on their minds, especially Krillin as he remained completely silent while he drove. Seeda was sitting in the backseat beside Vegeta, and she raised her head to meet Goten’s eyes.

“I think he’ll be okay,” she said, reassuringly. “These pills are doing wonders for his wound. Anyone else would have been dead by now, but he’s pulling through.”

Goten found he wasn’t particularly worried about that. Not that he wasn’t worried about Vegeta right now — he was pretty sure if he hadn’t died yet he wasn’t going to die anytime soon — but he appreciated her assurances all the same.

“Yeah, he’s pretty tough,” Goten said. “He’ll be up and kicking in no time.”

“ _Literally_ ,” Krillin added, sighing. “He’ll probably kick us all at least once.”

“Would it be Vegeta if he didn’t?” Goten said, laughing a little. Krillin laughed as well and shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder at the still unconscious man.

“Jeez...it’s just like old times, you know?” he said. “I can’t even count how many times we’ve done this kind of thing with your old man.”

The mention of his father caused Goten to look away from Vegeta, his jaw setting while he thought for a moment. “Hey...do you think my dad’s here too?”

Krillin paused and let out a thoughtful hum before he nodded slowly. “Anything’s possible, I guess! I’d be real surprised if Vegeta made it back but Goku didn’t.”

“But if he did, wouldn’t he...you know, be here?”

“Well…” Krillin started, then looked at Goten from the corner of his eye. “Maybe he _is_ here and we just don’t know yet.”

Goten’s instinct was to argue with Krillin that that made no sense, but then he remembered who his father was. He loved his dad — really, he did quite a lot — and he admired him, but...well, the man left a lot to be desired in the family department. He’d always been so jealous of Trunks for having his dad around all the time, when his own had a habit of running off to train or, you know, be dead and refuse to come back. Heck, he’d heard about it so often that when he was a kid he questioned whether or not his dad had just gotten sidetracked for a while when Frieza showed up. It took a few years to realize that probably hadn’t been the case.

It was well into the evening before they finally decided to stop, pulling off the road and into a clearing near a lake. Goten hopped out of the car and stretched his arms and legs before helping Krillin get Vegeta from the backseat. The saiyan groaned when they touched him, muttering a word that made Goten’s ears turn red, but he remained otherwise unconscious. Seeda used the capsule house, which was white and purple in color and large enough for at least four more of them. Frankly, it seemed maybe a little too luxurious for Goten’s tastes, though he couldn’t deny that it _was_ very nice inside.

“Wonder where they got this?” Goten asked as they stepped in, looking around at the white walls and black and purple decor.

“Must have gotten it from someone pretty wealthy,” Seeda commented as she followed. She went for the small kitchen area and opened one of the cabinets, her eyes widening slightly. “And I haven’t seen _this_ much food in a long time.”

“Good! I’m pretty sure I'm literally  _starving_!” Goten called. He and Krillin carried Vegeta into one of the rooms and laid him down on it. Satisfied that they probably wouldn’t come back to a corpse, both Krillin and Goten joined Seeda in the kitchen and set to work preparing food. For the first time in a long time, the three got to just enjoy themselves, laughing and talking while they cooked. They could forget about the threat looming over them for a bit, even if it was just for a little while.

 

The air outside was so heavy with heat that when Goten woke up, he thought they might have forgotten to actually sleep inside the capsule house. But there was a ceiling above him with a fan that was turning lazily, and he groaned as he brought a hand to his face. He was sweating already and — wait, what time was it?

“ _Eleven?!_ ” Goten yelled as he shot up and out of the bed, eyes locked onto the watch on his wrist. “Oh man! We way overslept, guys!”

He could have sworn all three of them had all slept in the same room, except when he looked around, no one was there. In fact, he could hear voices out in the main room. But...they wouldn’t just let him sleep in like that, would they?

“Hey, Goten!” Seeda’s voice called. “If you’re finally awake, we could use a hand!”

He rushed out of the room and saw Seeda sweeping up pieces of broken ceiling, with Krillin picking up what looked like might have been a table at some point.

“Oh, Vegeta’s awake?” Goten said, not _entirely_ unfazed, but certainly not very surprised either. “Man — how’d I sleep through that?”

“I really don’t know,” Seeda said wearily. “He was pretty upset.”

“Upset’s not a word I’d use for  _Vegeta_ , but yeah, he sure wasn’t happy,” Krillin said.

“Where’d he go?” Goten said as he stepped closer, looking up in the blue sky through the hole.

“He’s probably still sulking in his room,” Krillin said. “I’d be careful if you’re gonna try to talk to him.”

Goten looked quizzically at Krillin for a moment before he shrugged and headed for the bedroom they’d put Vegeta in. From what he remembered, the man had always had a severe temper on him, but wasn’t really the type to attack someone just  _because_. And besides, Goten reasoned with himself as he opened the door, he was practically family, right?

“ _You_ ,” Vegeta growled the second he poked his head in. “Where’s Bulma?”

“Oh, hi, it’s — Bulma?” Goten said. Apparently, that wasn’t the right answer — Vegeta was on him in a second, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him closer.

“You heard me! Where the hell is my wife?!”

“We didn’t even know we were supposed to get her!” Goten said. Vegeta let out a frustrated snarl and shoved Goten back against the door.

“Useless! All of you!” he said, wheeling around and going to the box of medical supplies sitting on the nightstand. “Did any of you even _t_ _hink_ to grab Senzu Beans?”

“Those haven’t been around in a real long time,” Goten said, straightening himself out. Another poor choice in words; Vegeta took hold of the box and threw it against the wall, yelling in anger. “H-hey, calm down!”

“Don’t tell me what to do! Why would you leave Bulma behind but take me?”

“Because you’re who our contact in West City said to grab! We had no idea we were supposed to grab her too!”

Vegeta scoffed as if he was disgusted, but then his head raised slightly as if he was listening for something, and he didn’t say or do anything else for a long moment. Goten stood there, unsure of what to do or say as he watched the man’s scarred back. After only a couple of minutes, Vegeta turned and walked toward Goten, stopping just in front of him and offering a devastating glare.

“Get out of my way, boy,” he said.

“No, wait — you can’t go after her. You’re too injured, and if you get caught—”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Vegeta said, his scowl deepening. “So move.”

“I...oh...oh, right. Okay, yeah, sorry.” Goten stepped aside sheepishly. Vegeta brushed by him, barking at Seeda to watch where she was going as she came down the hallway. She was still looking back as Vegeta disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom when Goten stepped out, and she looked at him, clearly confused.

“What did you say to him?” she asked, almost sounding impressed.

“Nothing — actually, I made him even more mad,” he said.

“Is that how he usually is when he’s really mad?”

“Not at all. At least, not that I remember,” Goten rubbed the back of his neck, staring down the hallway where Vegeta had gone. “I really thought he was gonna try to take off. I wonder why he suddenly changed his mind like that?”

Neither had an answer, but when Goten relayed what happened to Krillin, the older man seemed to hesitate before nodding quickly and agreeing that was indeed very strange and he had absolutely no idea why Vegeta would act like that.

By the time Vegeta had reappeared, he seemed less likely to go on a killing spree and just mildly more impatient as he watched them pack up. Seeda made an attempt to examine his wound, but he brushed her off with a harsh warning. Of course he made absolutely no effort to assist them, though at least he was already waiting outside when they finally collapsed the house and car back into their capsules.

“We haven’t got all day,” he said impatiently. “South City, was it?”

“Yeah, I mean...how did you—” Goten said, confused.

“Then let’s go,” he said, turning away from them and looking skyward. “The sooner we get there, the better.”

“Hold on a minute, Vegeta, you should really—”

But Vegeta didn’t hold on for even a second before he took off, leaving the three of them behind. Krillin looked back to Goten and shrugged lightly, as if the whole thing didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he almost seemed happier than usual.

“We’d better get after him,” Krillin said. “He’s definitely not gonna wait for any of us to catch up.” He took off after Vegeta, and Goten could only stand there, mildly dumbfounded by everything that had just happened. Seeda’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality, and he crouched down slightly so she could climb onto his back.

But as confused as he was, and as bothered by Vegeta’s general attitude as he was, Goten also couldn’t deny how...well, excited he was. Their slim chance of success had turned into a pretty decent once, and even if Vegeta didn’t seem to care much, Goten was genuinely happy to see him again. 


	16. Teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Explicit sexual content inbound.

“Are you sure?” he asked, staring down at the mini screen Commander Ryce had handed him. Pasley uncrossed her arms and stepped next to him, her shoulder brushing against his as she too looked at his screen. At the top was a picture of his mother with her name written across, the one they’d taken a year ago during her credentials update, and below was a list of last known sightings. The most recent one was from Yahhoy two days ago, though he wondered if she would even still be there by now. It’d been nearly a week since both she and his father had disappeared, and since then things had been more on edge than usual. From what he’d heard, Lord Frieza himself was growing impatient with their lack of results.

“We wouldn’t be telling you if we weren’t,” the Commander replied gruffly. “Lord Frieza demanded _you_ be given this assignment.”

Trunks didn’t blame the man for the venom in his voice, not after what happened with his father. He’d been given explicit orders to apprehend Vegeta and came back empty handed, only to be rewarded anyway. It was entirely unexpected, and while Trunks wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, it certainly did nothing for his superiors’ moods to know that such a grievous failure was being forgiven so readily.

“When do we leave?” he asked, handing the screen back to Ryce.

“Now. You’ll be accompanied by two of mine — Garmen and Trousa.”

“Understood.”

He and Pasley wasted no time in getting their armor on, both of them quiet as they did so. Pasley had seemed less like herself since getting her hands completely broken by his father, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was ashamed or angry, or both. She hadn’t said a word to him the entire time they’d gotten ready, and by the time they were flying from the city’s outskirts with Garmen and Trousa trailing close behind, she’d barely even looked at him too.

They’d been flying for nearly an hour before she’d finally break her silence, catching up to him so that they were side by side. He glanced at her and watched as wisps of her hair fluttered around her face, while the rest of it tied back into a tight braid.

“I need to ask you something,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear her, but quiet enough so that the two behind them weren’t likely to.

“What is it?”

“You said you didn’t know that guy,” she said, her tone taking on an accusatory one. “Why did you lie about that? Why are you _still_ lying?”

Trunks hesitated, unsure of how he was supposed to respond to that. It was true that he lied, he certainly couldn’t get around that. Why he lied...well, he didn’t really know, now that he thought about it. Every time he looked back to the moment he’d laid eyes on him and the other saiyan at the Lookout, all he felt was a deep shame for disobeying his orders.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“So who was he?” she pressed, her eyes locked on his face. “And don’t lie to me again. I’m sick of it.”

He could tell that he’d betrayed her trust by keeping it secret from her, and he pulled his gaze out from under her scrutiny long enough to look behind them at the two following. They were far enough away that he didn’t think they’d hear him, but...still, he lowered his voice further as he spoke, his eyes staring straight ahead.

“He’s my father,” he said, the confession coming out bitterly. Pasley fell silent for a moment, a stunned look crossing her features while she took in what he said.

“But...you said your father died,” she said, as though she half-expected him to confess to lying about that too. He shook his head.

“I thought he did. Turns out he was just missing for a really long time,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t make him reveal the true depths of his treachery. Thankfully, she didn’t seem too interested in pressing the matter, instead allowing herself to fall silent as Yahhoy’s city came into view. The four of them landed in front of the city’s main gates to present themselves to the City Force stationed there, and were briefed on the information they’d received. But while they were diligently listening to the City Force captain break everything down, Trunks could tell something felt...off.

They decided to split into twos for their sweep, with Garmen and Trousa heading east and Pasley and Trunks taking the west. If he remembered correctly, Yahhoy used to be a fairly popular destination for vacationers before Frieza’s rule. It had been mostly spared any type of actual destruction, considering how no one here posed any threat to anyone. Nowadays, it was a fishing village with plenty of agriculture work surrounding it. The people here were quiet and effectively avoided Pasley and Trunks, only speaking if either one of them felt it necessary to ask any questions.

The sun was setting by the time Trunks came to the conclusion that this had been a waste of time. Everyone they spoke to claimed ignorance over whether or not the blue haired woman had been here, even when under threat of imprisonment should they lie. It didn’t make any sense, though — why would they have been sent all the way here if the tip wasn’t at least _partially_ verified? He could sense Pasley’s own growing frustrating as they met with Garmen and Trousa in the city’s center, who also looked just as irate.

“Did either of you find _anything_?” Garmen asked. He was a large, short man with yellow hair and beady eyes, and right now his tan skin was flushed red with anger. Trousa was almost his direct opposite, thin and tall with deep purple hair and pale skin.

“Nothing — and no one’s seen or heard anything either,” Pasley said. Her brows drew together as she turned to Trunks, who was busy frowning at nothing in particular.

“ _You_ haven’t heard anything, have you?” she asked. The underlying suspicion in her tone sent a sharp spike of anger through him as he regarded her with a glare.

“No. Should I have?” he said, his jaw tensing against his aggravation. She eyed him for a moment before Trousa spoke up, ignoring the tension between the two.

“We’ve been assigned accommodations at the hotel nearby,” he said. “We should search the rooms while we’re there, too.”

“Good idea,” Trunks said, drawing his gaze from Pasley to nod at the other two. “We should also report our progress as soon as we’re done.”

The hotel they were assigned was much nicer on the inside than it was the outside, and they quickly discovered the reason for it: almost all of the guests were high-ranking officials or elites from West City. One quick survey of the guest list told them that they’d have a difficult team weeding through the ones who had real information versus people just trying to impress Frieza’s men. Trunks’ dread was well-founded — nearly everyone he spoke to had “definitely probably” seen his mother “sometime in the last little while,” but could not give him specifics. His patience had run out with a younger man who kept insisting that he most certainly saw her with a short round guy who carried a sword around.

“What a basket case,” Trunks muttered after he’d determined the man was lying and promptly shut the door for him to get him to stop talking.

“Tell me about it,” Pasley said as she rejoined him at his side. “I just spent twenty minutes arguing with an old woman about whether or not bug men that drank people existed.”

“What’s that got to do with finding my mother?” he asked, brows furrowing. Pasley threw her hands up into a shrug, her lips pursing and her eyebrows raised.

“You tell me!”

Trunks let a small laugh escape his lips before they settled back into silence. The awkwardness from earlier was beginning to creep back into the air, but Pasley cleared her throat and shifted her weight.

“Sorry about earlier,” she said quietly. “That was uncalled for.”

“Oh,” he said, taken aback by her sudden apology. “I...appreciate it. Thanks.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she added. “If you lie to me again, I’ll kick your ass.”

“I honestly don’t doubt that.”

“Come on,” she said, pushing away from the wall. “We can probably call it a night. Let’s get to our room and get some rest.”

 

As it turned out, the room they’d been assigned only had one bed, and it only took one round of rock, paper, scissors to determine that it would be Trunks sleeping on the couch. Not that he minded that much — it was about the same level of comfort he was used to in the barracks back home, and Pasley had more than earned the opportunity to sleep in something a bit nicer.

Like most of his nights lately, however, Trunks found it difficult to get to sleep. He was still awake well past midnight, tapping through various tabs on the mini screen he had sitting in his lap with one hand while he used the other to rest his cheek against. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was odd about this place, that he was missing _something_. But maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe he was just frustrated about being duped into coming all the way out here for nothing.

“You’re still awake?”

Trunks looked up from the screen to see Pasley standing in the doorway that led to the bed she’d won. He offered a slight shrug and held up the screen.

“Just trying to figure out how we got here,” he said.

“We flew.”

“Well, yeah, I just meant—”

“I was there, you were there…”

“Yeah, I know, that’s not what I—”

“Kami, lighten up, Briefs,” she said, laughing. She walked over to plop down next to him on the couch, bringing her feet up so she could cross her legs as her arms did the same. He adjusted himself to make room for her, tossing the screen onto the coffee table in front of them, then squinted at her questioningly.

“Why are _you_ still up?” he asked. She shrugged in response and leaned her head back so she could stare at the ceiling.

“Can’t sleep sometimes,” she said finally. He nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. He had a theory that most of their sleepless nights probably stemmed from the same feeling, from the same desire to get back into that training room despite the pain that came with it. It happened every time they came out — the pain would keep them awake, and it would be terrible for a little while, but then they’d come to miss its grip on their bones and sleeping would become a strange experience without its agony.

“Why do you think Lord Frieza spared our planet?” she asked suddenly, and Trunks realized she was looking at him. The question took him by surprise, and he found that he didn’t have an answer right away. He let himself go quiet while he thought, his eyebrows knitting together as he did.

“I think he...chose us for something,” he said at last. “I don’t think anyone can know the answer, not really, but it’s probably for something greater than ourselves.”

“I hope we find out someday,” she said. He nodded again, and the quiet that fell between them was neither awkward nor contentious, unlike their previous silences. When she began to move, Trunks assumed she was heading to bed — until she was suddenly leaning over him, her face hovering just a few inches away from his own. He stopped moving for a moment, eyes trained on her own as they searched his face. They stayed there only a few more seconds before she leaned further in and pressed her lips into his, uncharacteristically tender and uncertain.

Trunks was not a virgin. He’d lost that a long time ago, when he was around seventeen during his first trip outside West City, to a green haired girl whose name long escaped his mind. And he’d been with plenty of women and even a couple guys since then, yet there was something about what they were doing now that made him feel like he was that inexperienced seventeen year old again. It took him a second too long to react to her kiss, but when he did, his mouth pushed too hard against hers. She seemed to take it as a challenge and responded by biting hard down on his lip, which caused him to groan lightly.

Spurned on by his reciprocation, Pasley moved so that she was straddling his lap, both of her knees on either side of his thighs. He wrapped his arms around her, hands trailing over her back as they continued exploring each other’s mouths. He let out a low moan when she rolled her hips and rubbed herself against his groin, which only caused her to do it again and again, each time sending electric shocks up his spine until he was hard against her. Her hands came up to his chest and she shoved him back against the couch roughly, breaking the kiss and leaning back so that she could look at him.

For a moment, he thought she might end it there — it certainly seemed like she was considering it, and Trunks was already beginning to prepare himself for a cold shower. But then she grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and yanked him forward, her intense gaze never leaving his. Their mouths quite literally crashed together again and that seemed to be the last line of uncertainty between them; Trunks’ hands were right back on her, palming at her ass as she ground into him, his hips rolling against her movements because he wanted _more._ She grabbed at the bottom of his shirt and tugged it upward impatiently, their kiss breaking again just long enough for her to throw his shirt aside and do the same to her own.

Kami, he’d always thought Pasley was attractive — she was unlike any woman he’d seen before when they first met — but now, she looked like the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. He dug his fingers into her ass as she reached behind herself to unclasp her bra, and once she tossed that aside too, he started to trail his hands around and up her stomach, his fingertips just brushing the undersides of her breasts before she grabbed them and pinned them on the couch cushion behind him. She pressed him further back as she leaned forward, letting her breasts hang over him, taunting him with how close they were to him.

She certainly seemed aware of the effect it was having on him, and her mouth curved into a smirk as she lowered herself, her breasts pressing into his chest and causing his muscles to tense up. Soon her mouth was on his again, biting and pulling on his lips until they were sore. Pasley still kept his hands pinned, though they both knew that if he wanted to, he could make quick work of freeing himself easily enough. But he _didn’t_ want to because frankly, the power play was really, _really_ doing it for him, and the way his member throbbed against her was evidence of that.

When she pulled away again, she released one of his hands to move hers down to the front of his pants, tugging both that and his underwear beneath down to free his painfully hard cock. Her fingers wrapped around him harshly and he hissed when her grip tightened into a light squeeze, his back arching slightly in reaction. She began to pump him, intermittently gentle and rough again, the switch between pain and pleasure sending more electricity through him. Her thumb brushed over his tip a few times, wiping drops of precum away and she quickened her pace as he let out soft moans and harsh breaths. Just when he thought he might get close, however, she stopped suddenly — his hips bucked reactively and found nothing. Pasley tangled her fingers into his lavender hair and yanked him close to her face again, with another kiss made of teeth on him once more.

“Fuck me hard, Briefs,” she breathed against his mouth. “And don’t fucking hold back.”

Just as she commanded, Trunks felt himself shoot them both forward, her body crashing into the coffee table behind her as he was on her in a mess of broken wood and glass. Her yelp quickly turned into a vicious growl as she brought a fist across his face angrily — but he didn’t care. He tore her shorts off easily enough, and was greeted with another fist to the other side of his face as he kicked his own pants off the rest of the way. He caught her both her fists as she went for the third and fourth strike and slammed them both to the floor above her head. She shuddered with pleasure while another angry sound rumbled in her chest. Trunks positioned himself between her legs, which she brought up to wrap around his waist and when she kicked the back of her heels against him, he took it as permission and entered her in one swift motion.

Whatever pain she felt at the action, she hid it by biting down hard on her own tongue, the sound catching in her throat as he began moving his hips rapidly. He’d never been so rough with anyone before — he knew his own strength far too well, knew that if he _really_ lost control he’d probably cripple someone. But Pasley wasn’t like anyone else, and so he let go just enough, spurned on by the noises she was desperately trying to swallow down with every thrust of his hips. The hurt seemed to turn into pleasure quick enough as she tightened her legs around him, her hips bucking with his own, yet she still wasn’t making much noise beyond the little gasps that slipped out. Like her pride wouldn’t allow her to give into pleasure. Something in him wasn’t satisfied with that — in fact, he took it as a _challenge._ He wanted to make her scream.

Trunks abruptly pulled away from her, releasing her hands and sitting up on his knees. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the waist and tossed her around easily enough, just barely dodging a surprised kick to the face as he did. With one hand firmly on her waist, he used the other to press against her upper spine, forcing her to lean forward enough so that he could re-enter her cunt from behind. She let out an angry yell as he did, and he leaned over her so that his chest was pressing into her back to keep her there. He began thrusting again, his hips doing so urgently as he began to near his release.

The hand that had been on her back was brought around to her front, brushing over her lower abdomen until his fingers found her clit. She struggled against him briefly, as if not willing to let him win the game she knew he was playing _that_ easily, but her position meant that it was futile at best, and he toyed with her so effectively that she began to spasm in his touch. He worked his fingers against her quickly, pinching lightly and rolling her between his thumb and index finger. The first noise that escaped her was quiet, but it opened the floodgates — she began moaning loudly, whimpering and writhing against him as he toyed with her.

His timing was correct; Trunks rubbed her off into a screaming orgasm, her hips jerking as her legs went weak below her. As for Trunks, he freed his hand long enough to sit up slightly and grab the other side of her waist and slam into her brutally a few more times before he stilled, his release shooting inside of her. He rolled his hips into her as he rode out his own orgasm, soft gasps falling from his mouth. She pressed herself further back into him just as he was finishing, eliciting a loud moan from him as his cock twitched inside of her. They remained still for a moment, heavy breaths filling the air as they granted themselves a brief rest. Trunks moved first, gently pulling himself out of her with a hiss, as though it hurt to do so. The sight of his come beginning to leak out of her sent shivers down his spine as he sat back against the front of the couch, taking in the image before him.

Pasley looked like she’d been through hell; the broken glass had cut into her forearms and knees, and there were red marks from his hands all over her waist, ass, and wrists. But in spite of that, her expression was one he’d never seen before — complete bliss. She remained there for a moment longer, with her legs spread and her ass in the air, before she began to move. She did so slowly, letting out low hisses of pain as she crawled over to collapse at his side against the couch. In a moment of tenderness, entirely unlike what they had just done, she dropped her head to his shoulder and closed her eyes, letting out a long content sigh.

“I’ll fuck _you_ up next time,” she said, sounding out of breath. “See how you like it.”

“Sure,” he said as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. “Sounds like fun.”

 

Waking up to see what destruction they had enacted upon the coffee table the next morning was _not_ the highlight of Trunks’ day. He was still sitting against the couch beside a sleeping Pasley against his shoulder, with only a throw blanket for modesty. The damage before them was a bit...much. A mix of blood and glass and splintered wood littered the floor before him, and he had to help Pasley pick some pieces out of her skin before she got into the shower.

Once he had pants on, he set about cleaning up the mess as best he could, silently dreading having to explain what happened to the staff should they ask. Maybe they could get away with claiming clumsiness. At the very least, looking a little stupid was a whole of a hell lot better than breaking protocol. Which, right now, he really didn’t want to think about either.

Pasley exited the shower after spending a solid thirty minutes in there. The towel wrapped around her only hid some of the cuts and the bruises that were forming on her, and Trunks felt his face get warm when he saw her.

“Don’t act all shy on me now, Briefs,” she teased when she caught his blush. “You certainly weren’t shy last night.”

“I, uh...sorry about...that,” he said, motioning toward her wrists. Her eyebrows raised and she glanced down at them before shrugging.

“You did what I asked you to do,” she said simply. “And I’d expect you to do it again if I asked.”

If the goal was to make his blush deepen, she’d definitely succeeded. She continued to tease him as he finished cleaning up the room before he escaped into the shower to be trapped in his own thoughts. What they had done had most certainly been against _at least_ four or five codes that he could think of. If Captain Almone found out, she’d insist on separating them out of necessity’s sake — any weakness on the field was not tolerated, and she probably disliked him enough to insist upon relocating one or both of them to a different city. And...well, he wasn’t sure how he felt about Pasley, but he was pretty damn sure he didn’t want _that_ to happen.

By the time  he stepped out of the shower and dressed, Pasley was already in her armor and holding up the screen for him. He blinked at it before he took it from her, eyes trailing over the words that were lit up.

 _‘RETURN TO W.C. AT ONCE_  
_BY ORDER OF CAPTAIN S. ALMONE  
_ _YOU WILL BE JUDGED’_

Reading the last word was like getting stabbed in the chest. His jaw set and his teeth clenched, and already he could feel his bones ache. Pasley said nothing, instead turning and heading for the door in silence. He continued to stare at the words one last time before he turned the screen off and placed it back inside the pouch they all had on their sides. Trunks took one last look at the destroyed coffee table before he shut the door, and couldn’t help but wonder if they would’ve been better off separated after all.


	17. Vi et Animo

Fury. It was really all that was on Vegeta’s mind as he was tearing through the sky, his course adjusting every time he sensed anyone below who might see him. But he was moving so fast, he doubted they’d be able to even if they tried — still, with the bald one and the kid behind him and not moving as quickly, it was better to be cautious. Especially now when there was too much at stake for any carelessness. He’d already been careless enough as it was.

Underestimating his son, and whatever Frieza had done to him, had been a serious mistake and it nearly killed him. But he wasn’t convinced the boy was entirely lost, just as he wasn’t convinced that what Kakarot had said in his mind was true.

He scowled to himself, thinking back on his outburst in the capsule house. He’d been right to be angry with those three; saving _him_ and not Bulma had been an idiotic thing to do, and that they didn’t even think about her infuriated him. Kakarot’s assurance that she was fine and in South City was one met with a threat — he would _not_ tolerate being lied to.

And that Kakarot needed to stay out of his head.

Vegeta didn’t pay attention to how long they had been flying. The pain in his shoulder had become a dull, throbbing ache that was easier to ignore, and he could tell that those little blue gels had done their job decently enough. He was sure to have a new scar there, another mark from a battle he’d refuse to speak of later on. The closer they got to South City, the easier it was for him to reach out with his ki, searching for only one in particular — and when he found it he increased his speed. The air behind him cracked as he did, wind deafening in his ears though he still vaguely heard protests from Krillin and Kakarot’s boy. Naturally, he ignored them.

South City was completely different from how he remembered it. The last time he had been on this island, he’d been fulfilling a promise to Trunks and hated every damn second of it. It had been a tourist city full of people crowding every street, swarming like ants in every direction, with rides and bright colors and loud noises. Now, it was almost entirely in ruins — tall makeshift steel walls lined around it to conceal a variety of old, broken down capsule homes inside the city where skyscrapers once stood.

He hadn’t quite reached the city itself when he felt a burst of energy hurtling his way and dodged to the side just in time to watch a beam of light pass by him.

“Oh. It’s _you_.”

Vegeta turned his head to see the source of the light — a thin, pale man with long black hair and narrowed, icy blue eyes.  _The android_ _._

“You missed,” Vegeta taunted. “Care to try again?”

“Maybe later, tough guy,” 17 tilted his head to peer behind the saiyan, then looked back to Vegeta’s face. “Looks like Bulma was right.”

“17!” Krillin said, stopping beside Vegeta. There was an emotion in his voice Vegeta either couldn’t or just refused to identify. “I had no idea you were still alive!”

“Of course I am,” he said with a shrug.

“Then...you know about—”

“I know.” 17’s tone was harsh, like he didn’t want to continue the conversation. He glanced down and then back to Vegeta, his arms crossed loosely over his middle. “She’ll try to hit me again if I keep you too long.”

17 descended straight down, with Vegeta, Krillin, and Goten following close behind. The second their feet touched the ground, someone shoved right by 17 and threw themselves against Vegeta, who stood there a moment while Bulma cried into his chest. He didn’t return her embrace, or even change his facial expression from its usual mild scowl — but truth be told, having her close by again had lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders.

Bulma pulled back suddenly and brought her hands to his wounded shoulder, her fingers resting gently over it as tears continued to stream down her face. She sniffled quietly and looked back to his face.

“My god, Vegeta — I was so worried about you,” she said tearfully. “Did...did Trunks really…?”

Vegeta said nothing, but the way his mouth curved further downward was enough of an answer to cause her to break down into tears, once again holding onto him as she did. It was only at the sound of someone clearing their throat that Bulma seemed to realize anyone else was around.

“O-oh! Goten!” she said, pulling away to wipe her cheeks off. “Jeez, you’ve gotten so big — and you still look so much like your father!”

Goten’s cheeks turned red as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, turning his gaze to the ground below him as he stuttered out a sheepish ‘thank you.’

“It’s really good to see you again, Bulma,” Krillin said, stepping forward and smiling brightly at the blue haired woman.

“You too, Krillin. I really missed you guys,” she said.

“We should take this inside,” 17 said, interrupting the reunion. “I’ll let you stay at my place for now.”

The group followed 17, Bulma walking beside Vegeta with her arm looped around his while he kept his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his pants. With the exception of Krillin and 17, who were speaking in hushed whispers, everyone was quiet as they walked, mostly taking in the city’s streets as people bustled by them. It seemed as though the citizens here were mostly unaffected by everything — they weren’t as loud as the tourists had been, but they were still noisy with shouts from food vendors and various shops around. Nearly every single building was an old capsule home, all identical in their yellowish hues, while most of the stalls lining the streets were made from wood.

They filed into 17’s home in a line, his doorway too narrow for more than one person to enter at a time, and filtered into the living room. A woman with light blonde hair rounded the corner quickly, but relaxed when she saw 17 with the group of strangers that had entered.

“Oh, hello!” she said. 17 stepped toward her and bent down to whisper something to her, to which she nodded and smiled at the rest of them. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’ll go get some beds ready!”

She disappeared down a darkened hallway with that, and 17 turned back to face them.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said with a shrug. “Just try not to break anything.”

Vegeta moved to the window when 17 followed after the blonde woman, letting Bulma’s arm slip away from his while she began conversing with Krillin and Goten. He only half-paid attention as he looked outside, his eyes trailing over the small groups of armored men and women wandering the streets. They all carried primitive firearms with them, as if they believed it would have any effect against Frieza, and he scoffed at the thought. That these people had survived this long was a miracle, to say the least.

“What?!” Goten’s voice ripped his attention away from his observations. “My dad’s alive AND he’s off training somewhere?!”

“Well...yeah,” Bulma said, sounding a bit stunned. “He’s with King Kai right now. Did he...did you really not know?”

Goten fell silent and Vegeta watched as emotion wrote itself all over his face. He wasn’t entirely sure why the boy seemed so shocked — this had always been the truth of what being connected to Kakarot meant. His total dedication to training was something Vegeta both admired and was utterly exhausted by; at one time he might have tried to emulate that very same thing, but with Bulma and the kids…Vegeta’s priorities had changed. He still trained, but his investment went as far as keeping up with Kakarot and protecting his family.

“Don’t act so surprised, boy,” he barked at Goten, unable to stand the pathetic look on his face a moment longer. “If he’s going to face Frieza, he’ll need all the training he can get — we’re all going to want him at full strength.”

But even as Goten nodded, he still looked dejected. Vegeta rolled his eyes and headed for the door. “Quit your pouting and come with me,” he demanded, practically throwing the door open. “I’ll give you something _worth_ complaining about.”

“ _Vegeta_ , be nice!” Bulma yelled after him.

Damn woman! Didn’t she know he _was_ being nice? Goten followed after Vegeta, remaining quiet until the saiyan had found a reasonably sized clearing. Vegeta examined the perimeter for a moment before turning on Goten and glaring at him.

“Um...what are we doing here, Mr. Vegeta?” Goten said, confusion clear in his voice.

“What do you think? We’re going to train,” Vegeta said. “And you’d better not disappoint me.”

“I’m not sure I want to train right now,” Goten said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Vegeta snapped. “You don’t _want_ to fight Frieza, but you may have to anyway, or people you care about will die. Would you prefer that?”

Goten stared at Vegeta a moment and then, as if something in him clicked, he smirked and dropped into a defensive position. “Alright, fine! I won’t hold back, though.”

Vegeta chuckled to himself, then mirrored Goten’s stance. “Good.”

 

The two returned to 17’s house well after the sun had gone down, Vegeta having insisted on continuing until Goten threw in the towel for the third time. They were both covered in sweat and marks that would most likely bruise over, with the half-saiyan a little worse for the wear. Vegeta walked in first to find Bulma waiting at the kitchen table, her face illuminated by the bright light from a screen in front of her. Krillin and the dark haired woman who’d assisted Vegeta were sitting nearby, with 17 leaning against a wall. Bulma turned in her seat when she heard the door open and pulled her glasses off.

“There you two are,” she said. “We were just starting to worry about you.”

Vegeta scoffed and chose a spot to lean against the wall opposite of 17, his arms folded over his chest. Goten lagged behind and nearly collapsed into the chair between Krillin and his friend, and let out a deep exhale. Bulma huffed at Vegeta and returned her attention to the screen in front of her.

“Anyway, while you two were out playing around, your beautiful, hardworking wife was busy decoding a message our mutual friend from the city sent.”

“What does it say?” Goten said, leaning forward in his seat.

“It says that there’s another set of Dragon Balls aboard Frieza’s ship, _and_ they gave us the schematics to it too! Apparently Frieza isn’t even in the system, so it should be a piece of cake,” she said proudly. “It wasn’t easy decoding this message, you know. You can all thank me later.”

Vegeta paused a moment, brows furrowing slightly. The others started coming up with a plan, a variety of ways to infiltrate the ship based on the image she had on the screen, but something about it seemed _odd_ to him.

“Where did you get this?” he said, prompting multiple heads to turn his way at once.

“I was about to ask that myself,” 17 added. “Seems awfully strange that you’d just be _given_ that kind of information.”

“It’s from the same person who told us about you,” Goten explained, looking to Vegeta. “We’ve been getting information from them for a while now.”

“Yeah, plus Yamcha knows them,” Krillin added to 17. “We can definitely trust them — they haven’t let us down yet!”

Vegeta didn’t miss the slight frown on Goten’s face, but he didn’t necessarily put too much stock into it. Honestly, the boy had been frowning all day and it was just getting tiresome at this point. Hearing that _Yamcha_ of all people was part of this didn’t exactly help its case, though the way Bulma was smiling told him that wasn’t a comment she’d be likely to listen to.

“I’m so happy Yamcha’s alright,” she said. Vegeta shut his eyes tightly and his mouth twitched at the words. But, it was enough to squash whatever he might have wanted to say for the time being. The group continued to talk loudly to one another, with Vegeta remaining a quiet observer for most of it until they began to separate, going off to rest for the night. 17 had gone first, with Krillin not far behind — Vegeta watched as they once again resumed whatever hushed conversation they had been having before, and could only assume they must be talking about 18 and the girl. Goten and Seeda were next, leaving just him and Bulma behind.

She was engrossed in her work, sorting through files diligently and taking down notes every few minutes. When she spoke, it was mostly to herself even if she happened to be looking at and seemingly addressing Vegeta now and again. He couldn’t pretend that he was able to keep up with whatever she was saying — her genius mind worked in ways his didn’t, and he’d long since come to the conclusion that it was best to offer input only if he thought it necessary. Mostly, he just said “yes,” “no,” or “hm” on cue.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk about,” Bulma said mid-thought, though her voice was softer than it had been all evening. “It’s...it’s about Trunks. I think I know what they did to him.”

“What is it?” he asked quietly after a pause.

“Well, I managed to get _some_ information from the network room before Trunks showed up,” she started and leaned back in her chair. “I didn’t get a chance to go through any of it until we got here. I noticed something strange — it’s a file for ‘training protocol.’ At first I didn’t think anything of it, but then I opened it and it’s...it’s not like any training I’ve ever seen. I thought maybe you’d understand it better, since…” she trailed off, eyeing him carefully.

Of course he knew what she meant. He’d once served under Frieza himself, had been at the receiving end of his humiliation time and again. But he’d always had his free will before, so a part of him doubted he would understand it any better than she did. Still, he moved forward to stand behind her as she opened it, leaning to the side so that he could read over her shoulder. His forehead creased as he read through the first few sentences, and he did his best to ignore the anger rising in him as his mind kept going back to the look on Trunks’ face during their fight.

The ‘training room,’ as they deemed it, was akin to his gravity room — an immense pressure would be placed on the subject while they were bombarded by some sort of mental attack, unrelenting until they broke or died. Post-training they were rewarded with rest, where new thoughts would be planted into their subconscious during recovery. Total and complete loyalty seemed to be the goal, at any cost — including the subjects’ own life.

Torture and rewards were certainly right up Frieza’s alley, but Vegeta couldn’t help wonder at how much things must have changed since his own time as his captive. He’d certainly put more thought into this conquest than he ever had any other time. Surely it would have been easier to simply blow up or sell the planet, just as he’d done or tried to do before. Why go through so much effort to convert soldiers from a planet like _this_ one?

“I think...I think if we can get him to disobey Frieza’s orders, it might get through to him,” Bulma said, dragging Vegeta from his murky thoughts. “It looks like they do these ‘training’s periodically to make sure the soldiers stay loyal — if we can get Trunks _away_ from them long enough, and get him to disobey Frieza, it might just snap him out of it.”

Vegeta was careful not to react when she spoke. He had only ever had his mind taken from him once, and the pain it caused him was immense — but he had _refused_ to let it consume him, had denied Babidi total control over him because he had long since resolved that he would not be anyone’s puppet ever again. Trunks, though?

His son was strong and stubborn, that much was certain, but there was no way he’d have been prepared to fight off such a thing. He had never had to learn to control a transformation into Oozaru, had never had everything taken away from him so definitively that all he was left with was his pride and the memory of an entire race to carry. The boy had been born in comfort, had spent his most formidable years in comfort, and had a sister and a mother to be used as leverage. Weakness practically defined him now, and Frieza had been sure to take full advantage of it.

And the truth was that it was entirely his fault that he’d left his son so vulnerable. It was his failure as a father that led to this outcome.

Bulma reached her hand out and placed it on his forearm, squeezing as if to remind him that she was there. “It’s going to be alright, Vegeta,” she said, as if she could read his mind. “We can do this. We can get Trunks, get the Dragon Balls, and we can fix all of this.”

Her voice was so full of hope that he didn’t dare shatter it with his own doubt. Tomorrow, they would regroup and come up with a plan that made sense and _wouldn’t_ get them all killed. For now, he joined his wife in bed, her arms clung to him tightly even as she slept. It would take him hours to find any kind of rest, his mind far too busy thinking about a life he’d left behind on Namek so many years ago.


	18. Blue Skies

Bulma wished she could feel the same nostalgia Krillin seemed to when they got together. Seeing him again was very exciting, and she was so glad to see Goten as well — all grown up and still somehow so bright-eyed in spite of the world — but she just...couldn’t. Her heart had ached for so long since she escaped West City, and she felt constantly dizzy, like she’d been spinning in place for too long. Watching her husband and son fight so violently, so unlike any of the training they used to do together and so much more like the way Vegeta would fight an enemy…because that was what Trunks had been in that moment. An enemy.

Nothing in the world hurt more than to think of her own child like that, even unintentionally. When she watched Vegeta plummet to the ground, she felt more helpless and weak than she ever had before, knowing that she couldn’t go to him no matter how hard she’d try.

But she wasn’t going to mope forever, and she wasn’t going to let anything stop her from saving her children. Trunks wasn’t the bad guy — Frieza was. Trunks was just a pawn in his game, _none_ of this was his fault. He was still her sweet boy underneath it all, no matter what Frieza did. And who was she? She was Bulma Briefs, a _goddamn_ genius, and she was going to figure this out.

She’d heard rumors about South City for a while now, mostly from whispers shared between colleagues as they worked. Dangerous as it was, she knew that it was a risk she had to take. So she had managed to steal a capsule plane and set off, her anxieties and heartache rewriting themselves into renewed resolve. She didn’t stop until she got to the island, and got blasted out of the sky just as the city came into view. Not that she could blame anyone — it _was_ a city-made plane after all. And at the very least, 17 apologized when he realized it was her inside.

It was only when she’d had a moment to rest in 17’s house that she discovered the data she had was far more valuable than she’d originally thought. She’d been in the middle of working through some of it when she felt...something. She couldn’t sense ki, even after all these years, but she knew she had a _feeling_ that wouldn’t go away, that made her heart skip a beat if she focused on it hard enough. 17’s quick exit from the house had her chasing him, insisting that it was almost definitely maybe Vegeta because she had a feeling it was. No, she couldn’t be sure — she even tried to hit him when it was clear he was going to ignore her. Had he actually struck Vegeta with that ki blast, she probably would have followed through with her threat.

Seeing her husband again distracted her from those thoughts, distracted her from the determined resolve she’d carried for days following her escape from West City. The relief at seeing him was overwhelming; the pain of knowing what had separated them was too. But she shed some tears and that was all the grief she would allow herself. Now, it was time to work, especially when they received word from Yamcha with information from their contact in the city. It made perfect sense to her that Frieza would have another set of Dragon Balls at the ready, so while she understood her husband and 17’s suspicions, to her it was just another case of the bad guy having a bad guy backup plan.

And on top of that, she now had a plan to help her son, to save him from whatever hold they had on his mind. She even had an idea of how to save Bulla, but she also knew that one would take more time. Still, it was getting harder _not_ to be hopeful, even when there was a nagging voice in the back of her brain telling her this was all coming to them too easily. It was barely the crack of dawn when she’d stirred awake and found that she was the first to do so — even Vegeta was still asleep, his eyes closed and face relaxed from its usual scowl. She resisted the urge to kiss his cheek, knowing full well that it would wake him up, and he deserved as much rest as he could get. So she slipped out of bed as carefully as she could and navigated around the other sleeping forms on the floor, taking one final glance back at him as she left the room.

It didn’t last very long, of course; 17 and his wife (because she could just _tell_ who the woman was, no matter how hard they tried to hide it) were already awake and making breakfast, though the woman quickly disappeared after politely excusing herself. The promise of food was enough to wake both Goten and Vegeta quick enough, with the latter emerging from the room first while the younger stumbled behind sleepily.

“I doubt we’d have enough food to fill either of you up,” 17 commented to the saiyans as they sat down. “You’ll just have to make do for now.”

“Hmph,” Vegeta huffed, to which Bulma elbowed him gently.

“Don’t be rude, Vegeta! They’ve really gone out of their way for us. The least you can do is say thank you once in a while,” she chastised before pushing her bowl of rice and eggs at him. “Here! Eat the rest of mine. You’ll need it more than I will anyway.”

The ‘thank you’ Vegeta gave at her order was, in fact, just a stiff nod to 17. The android didn’t seem to care much either way, though Bulma made it a point to inform Vegeta that saiyans were still a massive pain in her ass. Goten, perhaps afraid to invoke her anger himself, was quicker with his gratitude, and complimented on 17 for his cooking skills.

“See! What a polite young man you’ve become, Goten!” Bulma said, making a show of her praising. “That’s really going to spare _your_ future wife heartache, I promise you!” The fact that Vegeta rolled his eyes didn’t escape her, and the two were still bickering loudly when Krillin and Seeda appeared. Krillin’s laughter was enough to catch both their attention and look at the bald man, who held up his hands in defense. But the two were quick to join forces and gang up on him instead. After all, they were husband and wife — bound by vows to work together in all things.

 

They had a plan. It had taken several hours, with lots of bickering between Vegeta and Bulma, then Vegeta and Goten, then Vegeta and...well, let’s just say Vegeta had a lot of input to offer at everyone. Frustrating as it was that he’d always seem to wait just a second too long to shoot down an idea or openly mock the very premise of one, Bulma had to admit that all of his suggestions or counters to everything they had made sense. _He_ was the seasoned warrior, had the most experience as a soldier, and most importantly, had worked under Frieza directly for nearly his entire youth. If anyone got a free pass for being an insufferable ass about this, it was Vegeta.

Frieza’s ship was stationed directly between West City and Ginger Town, if the information they received was correct. According to Vegeta, entering through the front was, of course, suicide. To Goten’s explanation that they’d never expect it, Vegeta had informed him that _everyone_ expected it for that very reason — and that it was very, very stupid. When Krillin suggested a back door, Vegeta only laughed mockingly. That was enough to end the idea then and there. Bulma offered going in via a window; Vegeta asked her which windows she thought would be quiet enough to break through in a ship full of soldiers. She silenced him with a glare. Seeda opened her mouth then closed it again several times, and Vegeta stared her down every single time, as if daring her to speak. Bulma nudged him with her elbow again, whispered another ‘be nice’ demand that he promptly ignored. It was 17 who finally came to a solution.

“One person enters as a soldier and allows access from an unmanned area,” he said. “It should be simple enough to find a uniform.”

“It would need to be two,” Bulma said. “They travel in pairs now.”

“Should be simple enough to find two uniforms then,” 17 said with a shrug. “I’m sure of it.”

Vegeta’s brow creased as he thought for a moment, and Bulma wondered if he was trying to come up with a legitimate counter to the strategy or thinking up a new way to insult it. Fortunately, it was neither; he nodded in agreement instead.

“It won’t be easy,” he said. “Frieza is no fool — he wouldn’t leave the ship unguarded, nor would he allow just _anyone_ on board.”

“So we need to find people with the right clearance level,” Bulma said, then she crossed one arm over her chest and rested her chin on her other hands. Then, after a moment’s thought, she gasped and nodded. “I know exactly who! Ryce and Birren — they’re always coming and going from the ship, and they’re mainly stationed in Ginger Town to keep the peace there. We just need to catch them off-guard somehow…”

“Leave that to me,” 17 said.

“Yeah, and me,” Krillin nodded eagerly. “I’ll go with 17 and back him up. We can take care of them.”

“But...who’s going inside?” Seeda asked. “I can’t imagine either of you could...blend in very well.”

Bulma nodded in agreement. “Oh, I know — that’s why you and Goten are doing it.”

Seeda seemed taken aback at the suggestion at first, but then glanced over at Goten, who offered her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry! We can handle whatever they throw at us,” he said, his voice full of that same Son confidence Bulma missed so much.

“Great! Then, guys...I think this means we have a plan!” she said, the swell of hope nearly bursting in her chest as she spoke. While they buzzed with excitement, Bulma couldn’t help but notice that Vegeta seemed a bit more withdrawn than he usually was, his eyes trained downward and his lips tight as if he was lost in a deep thought.

“Hey, Vegeta?” Bulma said, stepping outside after him. The others had already begun preparing for their tasks, with 17, Goten, and Seeda discussing the best strategy to taking down the commanders. Vegeta glanced back at her, his arms crossed just as they always were, and waited for her.

“You think this will work, right?” she said. “I mean, it’s a really good plan! I feel like we’ve got a real chance here, you know.”

Vegeta said nothing, only offered a low hum in the back of his throat as his eyes darted away from her face. Bulma paused and then frowned, her brows knitting together.

“Don’t you give me the silent treatment on this one,” she said. “If you think it’s stupid, then we should—”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” he said, quiet so that only she could hear him. “I just have a bad feeling about it, that’s all.”

Bulma hesitated, studying her husband for a moment. He rarely spoke so plainly with her about such things, especially with others close by. She had to choose her words carefully, in case he changed his mind about sharing his concerns with her lest he think he was being weak. “Vegeta, you know I trust you more than anyone, right? If you have a bad feeling about it, then maybe we shouldn’t do it. We can come up with something else.”

Vegeta shook his head. “No. This is an opportunity we cannot afford to lose,” he said. “You really think you can fix him?”

The mention of Trunks made her chest hurt, but she smiled through it. “I’m his mother, silly! I can fix anything.” Despite her tone, Vegeta didn’t appear entirely convinced, but neither had a chance to continue their conversation before Krillin was at their side.

“Everyone’s ready to head out if you guys are,” he said. “17 thinks we should try to get there at night, that way we can catch them on their to the ship in the morning.”

Bulma and Vegeta both nodded, and after only a few more minutes of preparation, they all agreed it’d be faster to simply fly there without the plane. Vegeta picked her up bridal style while Seeda climbed onto Goten’s back, Bulma smiling fondly at the sight as they took off.

 

She hadn’t flown much with Vegeta — at all, actually. And honestly, she was probably too much of a control freak, something that became painfully obvious when she began offering _harmless suggestions_ to his flight trajectory and speed after an hour of remaining silent. More than once he offered (read: threatened) to pass her off to someone else if she kept pushing her luck, though it was an empty threat at best.

But other than the occasional comment and her own discomfort at being held so tightly for so long, she had to admit that it was kind of nice in a way. Bulma could tell he caught her blushing and teased him for his attempt to ignore it, though he really did nearly drop her when she kissed his cheek. If they’d been flying any lower, everyone below within a mile would have heard the screaming match that happened after that.

“Damn it, Bulma! How many times have I told you not to do that?!”

“So you’d let your beautiful bride fall to her death because _you’re embarrassed_ by her affections?!”

“Don’t be so dramatic!”

“You nearly dropped me!”

“You surprised me with that attack!”

“Oh my — it wasn’t an _attack_ , Vegeta, it was a kiss!”

“Guys, please,” Krillin said, falling back so that he was beside them. “Can’t you be a little more quiet!”

“No!” they both yelled in unison. Krillin retreated as they continued their heated battle.

By the time Ginger Town had come into view, however, they’d agreed to disagree on where a kiss on the cheek falls on the legitimate attack rating system. 17 and Krillin pulled away from them then while the rest of them found an abandoned gas station a few miles away. Bulma and Seeda sat next to one another as they tried to regain feeling in their legs while Goten and Vegeta wandered off, probably to spar a bit to pass the time. After a few minutes of silence between the two, Bulma leaned back on her hands and examined Seeda from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help but cute she and Goten were in how they stole those quick little glances as if no one else would notice.

“So, how long have you known Goten?” she asked.

“Only for a few years,” Seeda said. She tucked a loose piece of black hair behind her ear, and Bulma couldn’t help but note how she looked a bit like Chi-Chi. “He and his mother saved my village from Frieza's men.”

“What, really?” Bulma said, doing her best to hide her surprise. As far as she was concerned, the two had been enslaved for years, though now that she thought about it...it made sense that they wouldn’t have told her. She smiled to herself, a hint of sadness playing on her lips. “That sounds just like something they would do.”

Seeda, unknowing of the secondary context behind the comment, merely nodded in agreement. “She’s an admirable woman, and she raised a fine son.”

Bulma set aside whatever hurt she felt to laugh quietly. “Goten is a great kid. He used to be very close to my son — they’d get into so much trouble when they were together, but I never had the heart to separate them.”

“I understand,” Seeda said. “My son was just the same.”

“Oh, that’s—What? You have a son too?!” Bulma said, not even pretending to hide her surprise.

Seeda fell silent for too long, and Bulma’s heart was already beginning to ache for her — she knew that silence all too well, knew what the woman would say next before she’d even said it.

“I did, yes,” her voice was too calm and steady, and Bulma recognized that too. “And my husband — they were both…” She struggled with her words for a moment before Bulma reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers tightly and offering a reassuring half-smile.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. There was nothing else to say, and the two women fell into silence until Goten and Vegeta returned, and Bulma released Seeda’s hand so that she could cross her arms at them. She could tell they’d gone to train again.

“You two are going to wear yourselves out before we can even get near the ship,” she said. “I swear you saiyans are never happy until you can nearly kill yourselves in a fight.”

“Hmph,” Vegeta grunted.

“It’s alright, ma’am!” Goten said. “I appreciate Mr. Vegeta keeping me on my toes.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Vegeta said dryly.

“You can just call me Bulma, too,” Bulma added, but Goten suddenly got a very serious look on his face before he spoke again.

“Thank you, but I...literally cannot do that,” he said, as solemn as if he was reciting a deeply held personal value. The couple could only stare in bewilderment, neither able to come up with anything to say to that.

They waited for nearly three hours before 17 and Krillin returned, both looking as though they’d been through several layers of hell. Seeda was quick to retrieve medipills for the both of them from her pack while Bulma examined the uniforms they’d brought. A couple of minor tweaks and she’d been able to rewrite the coded names and tuck in some of the places so that they’d fit a little more convincingly.

“Can I work miracles or what?” she said, admiring her own handiwork while Goten and Seeda adjusted to their new uniforms. Seeda had wrapped her black hair into a tight bun while Goten had done his best to mess his hair in a way that wouldn’t make him look quite as obviously related to Goku. Bulma eyed him for a moment before shaking her head.

“You look so much like your dad,” she lamented. “Hopefully no one notices.”

“They should go on ahead,” 17 said. “The further back we are, the better their chances of not being found out.”

“Yeah, of course,” Goten said. “We’ll go on now and meet you at the point of access, alright?” He and Seeda grabbed a couple of medipills and hid them in their uniforms as they began to leave, both carrying a solemnness with them that made Bulma’s stomach turn over.

“Goten,” Bulma said abruptly and he turned to look back at her. “Just...be careful, alright? I don’t want you getting hurt out there.” He smiled brightly at her and nodded, throwing his hand up to give her a thumbs up.

“Don’t worry — we got this!”

And with that, they left. As she watched them go, Bulma found that that feeling in her stomach had only worsened. But she smiled in spite of it, and drew herself up so that she could wave after them. This was their only chance — they _had_ to take this risk.


	19. Exactly Like You

The days since the anniversary had been interrupted by the mysterious saiyan had passed quickly. It had been the talk of the city at first, but the people hadn’t taken too long to find something new to distract them. Another batch of traitors had been discovered, all had been executed with only minor splendor. None had been as high-ranking as Char had been, and as such deserved little notoriety for their actions. As for Bulla, she’d allowed the quiet to fill in the empty space; she busied herself with parties and gatherings, worked diligently to sing Frieza’s praises both literally and figuratively.

But then Frieza had postponed his return to earth by a week, and in that time she had managed to acquire information more valuable than most she’d had before. She considered sitting on it for a couple of days to mull it over, to consider all the angles first, but the opportunity was too good not to take advantage of, and even if that Vegeta guy had been bested by her brother, he was still the most likely of being capable enough to take on Frieza. So she had Yamcha pass it along, and now all she had to do was wait.

Empty bottles littered most surfaces in her home, the stench of alcohol hanging in the air from the night before. There has been a party, a second celebration in Frieza’s honor, that the two girls had played host too. Naturally, it had gotten as wild as one would expect from the pair. People drank and partied and did whatever they could to get the attention of the two women, who remained both part of and completely separated from the festivities, a wide distance between them and the others kept behind an invisible line.

Bulla and Marron lay in bed together, naked and satisfied from the night before with their arms wrapped around one another. No one was allowed to touch either of them without explicit permission from Frieza himself — so, they had rarely been touched outside of him and each other. It was inevitable that they’d seek comfort in one another’s arms as they grew older and more starved for physical contact.

Bulla’s long hair was spread out beneath her, recently lightened again in anticipation of Frieza’s return. She shifted as she woke, listening to the sound of Marron’s gentle breathing as she stretched her arms out as much as she could without waking the other woman. She had yet to share any details about the saiyan and her role in his escape, though she imagined Marron must have had _some_ inkling that she may have been involved. The way Captain Almone shot glances in Bulla’s direction had been far less than discreet than usual. She turned her head to look out the window, her eyes narrowing slightly at the sunlight. If she was correct, then they should have the information she’d passed along by now. Yamcha would be contacting her soon enough with confirmation.

“Morning,” Marron said, sleepily rubbing one of her eyes. The blonde adjusted herself and curled against her a little further, her head resting against the top of Bulla’s breast. Bulla’s arms tightened around her, letting a breathy sigh escape her. They continued to lie there for a few more minutes, until they heard the sound of Bulla’s communicator going off urgently.

“I hate this thing,” Bulla said, reaching over to press a button resentfully. She lifted it up to examine the message, fully expecting it to be Yamcha’s confirmation. Instead, it was Captain Almone informing her of her impending visit. Bulla rolled her eyes and dropped the communicator back down before she began untangling herself from Marron and the sheets surrounding them.

“Almone is on her way,” she said, a trace of irritation breaching her tone.

“We should probably shower — I’m sure we both stink,” Marron said as she sat up, stretching her arms up over her head.

“Speak for _yourself_ ,” Bulla said with fake outrage. “I always smell amazing.”

The pair showered together, stealing away as many moments of shameless physical contact as they could, though their touches now were far more chaste than the night before. They cleaned each other and held each other, both treating each gentle touch like it might be their last because it very well could have been. With Frieza, anything was possible — sometimes they’d be separated for months on end, unknowing if it would be forever. He would use them, abuse them til they felt their bones break and their throats go raw from the screaming. One day, they both knew, these gentle moments would never be known again.

They had dressed and braided one another’s hair by the time Almone had arrived, accompanied by her usual entourage. Bulla sauntered down the stairs slowly, dressed in white to contrast Marron’s black, and offered the captain a bright smile.

“Miss,” Almone greeted her roughly. “I see that your...gathering went well. Has your help been neglecting their duties?” Her eyes trailed over the mess of empty bottles and plates strewn about and Bulla shrugged lightly.

“It did, thank you. And no, I gave them the morning off. They’ll come later to clean.” She preferred it when those beneath her thought of her as kinder than her social counterparts — it made it easier to coax information they might have gleaned from their eavesdropping of others in the district.

“Not that I don’t love seeing you so much,” Bulla started, shifting her weight and letting her arms cross loosely under her chest. “But what can I do for you, captain?”

“Lord Frieza sent me here to escort you to his ship,” Almone said, squaring her shoulders as she spoke. “He would like to speak with you in person.”

Immediately, Bulla’s mind went into overdrive as Almone’s words hit her like a ton of bricks. Frieza wasn’t supposed to be in the system, let alone _on his ship_ where she had just directed her secret companions to. She had verified the information herself, had cross checked it with Yamcha’s sources, and now...there had to be a mistake.

Or, _she_ had made a mistake herself.

The corner of Bulla’s mouth twitched just slightly, but she knew Almone had caught it, and she found that she really didn’t like the look in the captain’s eyes. But Bulla wasn’t about to be beaten at her own game; she widened her smile and blushed slightly, bringing her hands up to cup her own face enthusiastically.

“I had no idea Lord Frieza was back so soon!” she said, cheerfully as she could. “What do you think I should wear to see him, captain?”

“I don’t think it’ll matter much, miss,” Almone said, sounding mildly entertained. “And he demanded your presence _immediately_.”

Bulla’s smile was bright and unconcerned as she followed Almone out, but she could feel the slight twinge of fear clawing at the edges of her mind already. But Bulla had known fear her whole life, and now she was numb to it.

 

The entire way to the ship, Bulla had maintained an air of confidence. She spoke to her escort casually, seemingly unconcerned by what was waiting for her, just as she always did whenever Frieza summoned her. Almone’s vague amusement was enough to disconcert her, and more than once did Bulla make a comment on liking her new, happier demeanor. Normally that would have earned some kind of irate look or quiet huff, but today all it seemed to do was make her _smile_ at Bulla, completely silent and yet so loud all at once.

But she knew fear well enough to know how to hide it. She was raised in it, defined by it, to the point where she only half-recognized it as such anymore. She kept her breaths even, steadied her muscles to keep from shaking, and willed her mind to remain clear as she followed Almone into the ship. As they walked through the tall hallways, she took note just how many soldiers there were, something that was unusual unless Frieza himself was planning on engaging in a fight. _Even breaths, steady limbs._

She’d been on this ship enough to know where they were going — the ‘throne room,’ such as it was, because its massive window was wide enough to give him a perfect view of everything in front. Almone stopped in front of the sealed door and turned to face Bulla. The same smile she’d had on the way here was still plastered on her face, though this time Bulla could see the malice written within it.

“Miss,” she said, giving her a slight, mocking bow as she gestured her forward. Bulla said nothing, but her own smile was all teeth. She would not be broken by the captain — she had not earned the right.

Bulla stepped forward and walked through the doors as they opened, and her heart began to beat a little quicker as her eyes fell on Frieza. Either with fear or some other unknown feeling, she wouldn’t know. He had his back turned to her, floating in the air in the middle of the window. She forced her heavy legs forward, willing her stride to be as confident as possible, and stopped only when she would be just a few feet from him if he came back to the ground. Bulla knew better than to speak first, and so she waited in silence for what felt like an eternity until he gave a low, disinterested hum.

“Did I ever tell you about what I did to the saiyans?” he said at last. It was a rhetorical question; he would give her the answer without her even having to ask, because he had told her so many times already, and so she remained quiet. “I destroyed their entire planet. I kept a few of them, of course — disgusting little monkeys as they were, they were at least useful as cannon fodder.”

Frieza began to descend slowly, and Bulla’s heart skipped a beat when his feet touched the ground. A chill washed over the length of her body. “Come here.”

Bulla moved without question, as if on autopilot, and stilled when she was just a step behind him. “Come _here_ ,” he commanded, and she stepped forward again, so that she was beside him now. Without warning, his hand shot to the back of her neck, grabbing her so tightly that for a moment she thought he would pop her head clean off. Her eyes widened as pain shot down her spine and her body shuddered involuntarily. She still didn’t dare make a noise.

“I suppose I should have expected this would happen eventually. I’d hoped you’d be more like your grandfather,” he said, sounding almost bored. “Such a waste, really. What’s that silly little earthling saying? The apple tree doesn’t wander far from the orchard...Oh, it doesn’t matter — you understand what I’m saying, don’t you, pet?”

Even if she was being prompted for a real response, she didn’t think she would be able to. She found it difficult to breathe through the pain, and what little she could was coming out in small gasping bursts. She could only stare ahead, the soldiers below moving in perfect lines as they boarded the ship.

“Though I must say I’m impressed that _you_ of all people managed to play such a deceitful little game for so long. I’d have thought your pitiful brother would be the one to do it, but you’ve gone and surprised us all. You’ve got all sorts of tricks up your sleeve, don’t you?” He squeezed tighter and she couldn’t breathe at all now. “You remind me so much of your filth-eating monkey _father,_ even with such a pretty face — yet for all his stupidity and arrogance, at least _he_ knew how to keep a secret better than you do. A shame, a shame.”

The sound of the door opening only barely registered to her, though she managed to recognize Almone’s voice through the ringing in her ears. Frieza let out a cruel laugh and turned, taking Bulla with him — the movement was sending waves of agony through her, causing her to wince and gasp just enough to get some air in her lungs. He shoved her forward, his grip loosening on her neck but he hadn’t entirely let go either. Before her was Yamcha, bound and gagged on his knees. One half of his face was bleeding profusely and she could tell that he was only barely holding onto consciousness, just as she was. He stared at her with an intensity she’d never seen before, with urgency written in his eyes like he was trying to speak to her with his mind.

“Didn’t I already take care of this one before? I could have sworn I did,” Frieza mused. “No matter — we’ll take care of it again, won’t we? Now, I hope you’ve had fun with your pathetic rebellion, little monkey, because it ends here.”

He pointed his finger at Yamcha and a burst of purple light shot forward to tear through the scar-faced man. Bulla watched as Yamcha’s expression froze into one of shock and pain and he fell backwards from the force of the strike. He lay on the floor and struggled for far too long before his body went limp, having exhausted its efforts to survive. Frieza’s laughter echoed throughout the room. Bulla, however, had no reaction. She’d felt...nothing.

Frieza returned with her to the massive window, pushing her so close to the glass that she could see her ragged breaths steaming against it. “Take a good look out there — when your friends arrive, we will be more than ready for them. I do so hope your father comes, too. What a joy it would be to see him again, don’t you agree?”

She was dazed from the lack of oxygen, although not enough to have hallucinated what he said. It confused her — her father? He kept mentioning her father, but...her father was dead. Surely Frieza was just mocking her at this point.

“Yes, I think he’ll show up after all. It’s been so long since I’ve killed a Vegeta, but I want a real fight out of him, I think.” Frieza said. “All he needs is a little _motivation_.”

Nothing he said made sense to her, but she wasn’t given any time to think about it. She felt him pull her back, and then shove her forward into the glass hard, her vision going white as her skull struck the surface. He did it again, and again, until she was so dizzy she felt she would throw up. She vaguely heard the sound of a crack before she was thrown back against the floor, crashing hard near Yamcha’s body. She felt herself being lifted into the air by rough hands and knew she was being dragged elsewhere.

“You’re lucky you still have my favor,” she heard Frieza say to her. “I’ll come for you later, little monkey.” She struggled to make sense of his words as she was pulled down a hallway, her mind fighting desperately for consciousness before she gave into it. She heard a crash just as the darkness clawing at the edges of her vision swallowed her whole.


	20. Gods & Monsters

Something definitely wasn’t right. As he and Seeda got closer to the ship, a bad feeling in the pit of his gut grew, with branches of anxiety wrapping and rooting themselves around every piece of him. There were _a lot_ of soldiers here, and Goten for the life of him couldn’t figure out why their contact hadn’t mentioned that fact. But it was too late to turn back now, especially when they were so close to victory, so he swallowed it down. He pushed away the growing worry in his mind, focusing instead on selling their play as soldiers in Frieza’s Forces. He and Seeda approached from the east side of the ship and fell into a massive line with other soldiers who wore the same colors they did, hoping none of them would look too closely or somehow _know_ they didn’t belong.

He’d seen plenty of the Forces over the years, though mostly from a distance. Seeing so many up close was unsettling — it was different when they were faceless monsters burning and killing everything in sight from a distance. Now, he could see them for what they were: people. Twisted, horrible people that wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone if Frieza ordered it. If he thought of them as anything else, he wasn’t sure he could stomach it.

Goten and Seeda followed the line as it moved slowly into the ship, stopping every few steps for seemingly no reason but to torment him and prolong his anxiety. By the time his feet touched the metal ramp leading inside, stomach had crawled up and down his throat _twice_ ; it’d taken nearly everything he had not to look to his side at Seeda, to make sure he wasn’t there alone. He willed himself to be brave, to remember everything that was at stake. If they got to the Dragon Balls, they could end all of it — they could free the world and live a normal life. He just had to be strong enough.

The interior of the ship was unlike Goten had ever seen. Tall white walls led to high ceilings, with circular windows dotting every ten feet or so. The line began breaking up once they were inside, with soldiers suddenly relaxing their shoulders just a little as they rushed off to their stations. He and Seeda moved away, unsure of their bearings until she spotted a window facing the east and he nodded to her. If he remembered the map clearly, then all they needed to do was follow the east-facing wall until — there. They turned down another hallway leading to the center, more narrow than the massive one from before.

But Goten felt someone coming as they approached a new corridor and he shot his arm out to stop Seeda on instinct, stepping back and pulling her with him so they were concealed beyond a doorway. The sound of feet stomping by wasn’t unusual here, but the sound of something...someone being dragged was. Goten carefully peered around the corner and his eyes widened with horror — _Yamcha_. He was bound by his arms, but still kicking and struggling against them before one soldier — a tall, severe looking woman — kicked the back of his knee so violently that Goten heard the sound of bones snapping. He winced at the sound of Yamcha’s yell.

“Silence,” she said viciously. “And show some respect.”

To Goten’s surprise, Yamcha started laughing — enough to give even the soldiers pause as well. “L-Lady, you...you think a busted knee’s bad? Ha...I-I’ve had worse.”

She growled and slammed her knee into the side of his head, knocking him sideways into the wall beside him. Goten could feel himself shaking, the urge to go help Yamcha — in spite of the past — was nearly overwhelming. How could he just stand by and watch him get mercilessly beaten by this woman? Seeda’s grip on his wrist was all that kept him there.

“Admit your crimes, filth!” the tall woman bellowed. “ _Where_ is the saiyan?”

“Even — even if I knew, I’d never tell you,” Yamcha said, struggling to raise himself up with his arms. “Bulla...s-she’s innocent in this. It was all _me. S_ he d-doesn’t...doesn’t know anything.”

 _Bulla?_ Goten’s eyes widened. The tall woman laughed and struck Yamcha across the face again.

“Valiant effort, but pointless. Lord Frieza has finally seen the truth. I made sure of it,” she said, reaching down to grab him by the hair. “She’ll be punished accordingly, same as you.”

The woman began to drag him away on her own, the two other soldiers trailing behind them. Goten stepped forward, wanting nothing more than to follow after them and put a stop to this _now_ , but—

“Goten,” Seeda whispered, her fingers tightening around his wrist. “We have to go. When we find the Dragon Balls…”

“We can save everyone,” he finished, though his voice shook. She nodded and tugged lightly on his wrist, and he reluctantly turned away to follow.

 

As they continued down their path, they had to be far more careful than before. There were fewer and fewer soldiers down this way, and those that they _had_ seen were among the elite — they weren’t likely to get away with claiming ‘we got lost trying to find the bathroom.’ Finally, they found what they were after; the service access door was below the ship, inaccessible from the outside and invisible to the naked eye. The room that housed its control panel was tiny and, thankfully, unguarded. Seeda bent down to pry open the control panel while Goten kept watch.

Suddenly, a painful _sharpness_ shot through Goten, so quickly that he thought it came from the outside. Seeda turned to look at him as he processed what he’d felt, his hands shaking from the abrupt pain, and the knowledge of where it came from.

“Goten?” Seeda said. “What is it?”

“It’s...it’s Yamcha. He’s dead, and whatever or...or whoever killed him is...they’re way too powerful.”

Seeda watched him a moment before she continued to work on the control panel, but he could still see the concerned look in her eyes. The panel beeped and she motioned for Goten, who stepped forward to pull open the door while Seeda pressed a button on the communicator she pulled from her pocket. But not a minute after the door opened, Goten felt _something_ rumble under his skin — something incredibly powerful. If they got there before the others, this whole thing would be over before it even started.

“Someone’s coming,” Goten said. “I’ll go distract them, you stay here and make sure the others make it inside!” He didn’t wait for her argument, bolting out of the small room and in the direction the power was coming from. But just as soon as he thought he was close, it vanished. Goten stopped in his tracks and sweat began to bead on his forehead as he tried to focus, searching for where it had gone.

“What the—”

The surge of power suddenly appeared again just as an elbow connected with the back of his head. He shot forward and barely caught himself before he hit the ground, spinning in mid-air to face his attacker. It was a man wearing a uniform not entirely like the rest of the Forces — all black material that clung to him tightly, showing off just how muscular he was, covering everything but his hands. But the most unusual part was the fact that his face was concealed by a solid white mask; featureless and plain, it was wrapped around his head like a vice, with neither eye-holes or a space for his mouth or nose.

The man disappeared and so did his ki again, but this time Goten was ready — he raised his arms up in time to block the man’s feet from crashing down on his head, using the momentum to instead throw him forward and into the wall. The masked man kicked back from the wall and swung his leg around to strike Goten, but the younger let his body drop down in time to sweep his own leg up and against the man’s back, kicking him upward. Goten readied a ki blast, but only managed to make a hole in the ceiling above them; the man reappeared in front of Goten to land a powerful punch into his gut, the force of which knocked all the air out of him. The other man seized the opportunity to volley a barrage of punches into Goten, then swung around to kick him through a nearby wall. Momentarily stunned, Goten only managed to dodge the incoming ki blast by quickly rolling out of the way as it tore through, destroying three more walls.

“Man, this guy’s not playing around,” Goten said to himself as he leapt up to his feet. If he’d been even a half second later, he would have been struck by the fist that went into the wall instead. Goten jerked his knee up and into the masked man’s chest, then brought his fist down to his cheek, though the mask probably hurt him more than the man. Still, it seemed to stun him enough to give Goten an opportunity to jump back enough to give himself some space.

“Time to end this!” he yelled as he brought his hands back to begin charging a kamehameha. But he froze as realization struck him — the masked man was doing _the same thing_. His shock caught him off guard, but he was able to go out of the way in time, the blast nearly destroying the entire hallway and blasting a hole out the other side of the ship entirely. Goten turned back to look at the man in surprise, his mind racing to figure out just... _how_?

But the masked man only stood there, unmoving and silent. Goten steeled himself and considered his options; by now, the others had to be on board, though whether or not they’d made any progress getting to the Dragon Balls was another question entirely. He turned his attention back to the man, and knew that they’d have a better chance without his interference.

“Come on!” he yelled. “What’re you waiting for?!” Maybe taunting the masked man _wasn’t_ the best plan, but it was at least effective — Goten watched as he shot forward and braced himself for impact. When the man vanished, he spun around to catch both fists in his hands, arms quaking against the strength trying to overwhelm him. They struggled there for a moment, pushing back against one another before Goten’s palms felt hot. He realized a second too late that it was from twin ki blasts and stumbled back, then fell as his feet were swept out from under him. Goten hit the ground hard and the masked man was quickly on top of him with one hand closing around his throat before he could react.

Goten grabbed at the hand on his neck instinctively, put as much strength as he could muster into trying to wrench it away. The man wouldn’t budge even a little bit, no matter how hard he pulled, and Goten felt a rush of panic when he realized he couldn’t breathe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man gathering energy in his free hand, the light flickering brighter until his fingers suddenly twitched and the light dissipated. Goten felt the man’s hand on his throat weaken — not by much, but it was enough to let him take in a deep breath. For a moment, it seemed as though the man was about to let him go.

Out of nowhere, the man let out a muffled, agonized yell of pain and he doubled over Goten, who was so taken aback that by the time he realized he’d had an opportunity to escape, it was lost again. His fingers tightened so sharply that he’d hardly had enough time to fully register what happened. _This is it,_ Goten’s mind told him. _Just be brave._

But right as the man began charging a ki blast again, he was knocked off of Goten, launching forward down the hallway by a shock of light. Goten struggled to sit up, his breaths labored and uneven as his lungs tried to drink in as much air as quickly as possible.

“Goten!” Krillin yelled and ran toward him, 17 close behind. “Are you alright?!”

“I-I think so,” he said, his voice so hoarse he hardly recognized it. He touched his neck lightly, but even that caused him to wince.

“Come on, let’s go,” Krillin said, moving to Goten’s side to help him stand.

“He’s really strong, Krillin,” Goten sputtered and coughed as he hoisted himself up, holding onto the older man’s shoulder for balance. “We gotta get out of here quick — before he comes back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” 17 said, looking in the direction the masked man had been sent flying. “I’ll take care of him. You two get out of here.”

“Seeda?” Goten asked, but 17 could only offer a shrug in response. The sound of shifting pieces of wall alerted them to the masked man’s recovery, prompting both Goten and Krillin to give 17 one last nod before tearing off down the corridor. They suppressed their kis as they tore through corridors, ducking and dodging out of sight of scrambling soldiers.

“Hey, what about Vegeta?” Goten asked as they were crouched in the doorway of what appeared to be a supply closet. As if on cue, they felt the ship suddenly shudder and jerk around, as if struck by an earthquake. Both men lost their balance, Goten falling back and barely catching himself with the doorway, while Krillin fell against the wall beside Goten. They could just make out the sound of yelling, and Goten strained to hear the voice.

He wished he hadn’t — of course it was Vegeta. And of course he was probably fighting. But who was he fighting that could produce _that much_ power?

“What’s he doing?!” Goten hissed to himself. Krillin looked uneasy, and shook his head.

“Goten, it was a trap,” Krillin said, his voice shaking. “There’s no Dragon Balls. Frieza’s been here the whole time waiting for us to show up...and we fell for it.”

It felt like a ton of bricks had landed in the pit of his stomach, the weight of it nearly bringing him to his knees. “No,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “If that’s true, then we’re…”

“No we’re not!” Krillin said firmly. “Come on, let’s go!”

Goten did his best to shove the dread he felt down as far as it could go, and forced himself to move. The sounds of battle grew closer the further into the ship they got, and the pair had to found themselves having to fight through small groups of soldiers on more than one occasion. Somehow, between the surges of energy practically pulsing through the air, Goten picked up on something else while he was busy trying to pinpoint where Seeda could be. It was someone else’s energy rippling through in small, uneven bursts not unlike a distress signal.

“Hold on...Krillin, do you feel that?” Goten said, slowing down and looking around. Krillin stopped and focused for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah, I can,” he said. “Someone’s definitely hurt.”

“It could be Seeda,” Goten said anxiously before looking down the corridor to their left. “It’s coming from that way!”

They took off again, the feeling becoming stronger and stronger until they were outside a pair of steel doors. It wasn’t much of a challenge for either of them to get through, but they were greeted by the tall woman Goten had seen with Yamcha earlier.

“ _You_!” she shouted. All three raised their hands at once, all three set off a ki blast, but it was the woman who was knocked back and through the second set of steel doors and into a darkened chamber behind her.

The sight of a second, younger woman lying on the floor writhing in pain told Goten that she had been the source of the feeling. He instinctively rushed forward only to be greeted by an immense pressure bearing down on him the second he stepped into the chamber, and loud, indistinct whispers flooded his mind instantly. He clutched at his head, trying as hard as he could to will them into silence, before both the whispers and the pressure abruptly vanished.

He glanced back to see Krillin at the control panel, then hurried over to the younger woman to turn her over. Blood obscured most of her face and it took Goten a moment to realize that it had come from a deep cut along her hairline. He quickly tore off a piece of his uniform and pressed it against her forehead, eliciting a sharp cry from her before she began trying to fight him off of.

“H-hey! It’s okay, it’s okay!” he said, surprised at her strength as he struggled to keep her still. “You’re okay now! We’re gonna get you out of here, I promise!”

Her one open eye was wild and terrified, the other closed shut from the blood that covered that side of her head, but she reluctantly nodded to show she understood. Goten helped her to her feet, keeping her upright by holding onto her shoulders as she took slow, pained steps forward while she pressed the piece of cloth to her own forehead tightly. They were about to step into the hallway before she stopped and reached out to grasp the doorway, blood staining the white wall under her hand.

“W-wait,” she said, then she pulled away from Goten to limp back to the control panel of the chamber she had just come out of. She stood there silently for a moment, staring hard at the woman as she struggled to bring herself to her hands and knees. Without warning, she slammed her hand down on a black button and all at once the chamber became dark again and the woman collapsed onto the floor, screaming in agony.

“Please...please get me out of here,” she pleaded, sounding far weaker than she looked in that moment. Goten hesitated and then moved to grab her shoulders again, shooting a glance back at the woman left locked in the chamber. His stomach turned at the sight, but...now wasn’t the time for a moral dilemma. He shuddered against his own guilt.

They didn’t get far when the ship rocked again, this time far more violently than it had before. Goten wrapped his arms around the woman to keep her steady, using his body to shield her as they crashed into the wall, then the ceiling, then the floor again.

“We gotta get out of here, Goten!” Krillin yelled. “They’re tearing the ship apart!”

“We have to find Seeda, and Vegeta needs help!” Goten yelled back, loosening his grip on the woman and helping her regain her balance. She pulled away from him and grasped at the wall, letting out small gasps of pain. Krillin paused and then shook his head.

“Listen, you go find them and I’ll get this one to safety, alright?” he said. Goten glanced between the two, but didn’t need much more convincing.

“I’ll come find you guys soon! I promise!”

“Be careful, Goten!” Krillin called after him as he rounded the corner.

 

It felt like he was running in circles. If every hallway in the ship looked the same to him before, now it looked the same _and_ it was on fire. He focused, and he searched, and he _hoped_ until he felt it; it was faint, but the relief at having found her was enough to make him ignore the sounds of fighting that he was getting closer to. He followed it through a narrow and ruined hallway, slowing his pace down only because he was forced to move pieces of wall and ceiling out of the way.

“Seeda!” he called out.

Nothing, except the sound of Vegeta’s angry voice on the floor above.

He moved another piece of wall.

“Seeda!”

Again, nothing; again, another shout. This time, in pain.

He practically _threw_ the collapsed beams out of his way.

But no matter what he did, he couldn’t find her, and now all he could feel was the overwhelming sense of dread — of knowing that he had to make a choice. He didn’t know where Seeda was, but he knew where Vegeta was. And he knew that he’d been fighting Frieza alone this entire time. If he wasn’t dead yet, he soon would be.

Goten let out a violent yell as he changed into his super saiyan form, his mind completely at war with itself in spite of everything. He shot out of the hallway and through the ceiling above, then landed in front of Vegeta’s battered, crumpled body. The other saiyan was still breathing, just barely, and Goten felt a chill rush down his spine when his eyes landed on Frieza, floating in the open sky above. Their fight had torn apart this entire section of...well, it wans’t really a ship anymore. And worse yet, it didn’t even look like Vegeta had laid a single finger on him. Goten felt his stomach drop at the thought.

“Oh, goody,” Frieza said dryly. “Another monkey joins the fray.”

“Don’t celebrate just yet, Frieza!” Goten yelled, mustering as much courage as he could. “I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone else!”

“Yes, yes,” came the impatient reply. “I’ve heard this all before said by much worthier opponents than you. Shall we just get this over with? I don’t think I’m quite done with Vegeta, and you’re in my way.”

Goten shot up into the air, aiming straight for Frieza, but found nothing by the time he got close enough to swing a fist. He turned, ready to block an attack only to find empty air. The strike came from behind him, too quickly for him to react as he fell back to the ground below. It was unlike any other pain he’d felt before — the spot where Frieza had made contact with his shoulder felt like fire. He gasped against the excruciating heat on his skin, but forced himself to push through it. He moved again, this time careful to keep his distance as he sent a volley of ki blasts in the other’s direction.

Frieza’s laugh coming from above him sent off every panic button in his mind.

“My, aren’t you just adorable,” he said. “It must sting to know daddy wasn’t as proud of you as his _other_ boy, though I’m sure you understand why. You’re not nearly as interesting as either of them, are you?”

Goten’s stomach lurched at the words, but he ignored it. He brought both hands together above his head and fired off another volley with a vicious yell.

“ _Cute_ ,” Frieza’s voice came from beside him. “But futile.”

He didn’t have a chance to blink let alone move away from unbearable pain that came from Frieza striking him three times in rapid succession — once to the throat, once to the stomach, and once to the back of his neck.

Goten hurtled down with such speed that he cracked the metal floor below, every muscle and bone in his body screaming out on impact. He would have screamed himself if he could, but even breathing felt like torture. He could vaguely make out Frieza’s shape hovering high above him, his cruel laugh making Goten’s ears ring. A purple light began to form in front of Frieza, and Goten forced himself to keep his eyes opens. _Be brave_ , he urged himself not for the first time today.

“Frieza!” The voice put an end to Frieza’s laughter almost instantly, and Goten felt something change in the air.

 _Wait._ Goten knew that voice, he knew that energy. He fought his own body in his attempts to sit up, to move at all. Every fiber in his being was on fire as he pulled himself upright, his lungs aching to catch a steady breath. His vision was blurry at first, but then he saw it — that spiky hair that Goten knew all too well. Fashionably late, as always.

“Sorry I kept you waiting.”


	21. Kingdom Come

Crazier things have definitely happened. Goku had been around the block so many times that, honestly, it was starting to feel kinda dull. Every time a new big bad guy showed up, the fight was always so exhilarating in the moment, pushing him the peak of his abilities and power until it ended like it always did. They were always the best of the best until they weren’t, because he was. He usually was, anyway. Of course the dullness wouldn’t last too long before someone cropped up, and Goku would feel the same exhilaration that came with every new challenge.

That’s not to say he was conceited or that he liked the doom and gloom that typically followed a new challenger. No, not at all — he didn’t want people getting hurt or anything. He just really, really, _really_ liked fighting. He could probably chalk it up to being a saiyan, but frankly? Sometimes he thought that he probably liked it even more than the most saiyan-saiyan he’d ever met. Like, who would rather hang out with a baby all day than train with actual gods?

After a year with Vegeta in the hyperbolic time chamber, the last thing he expected to walk out to was the total conquest and devastation of earth over a period of twenty-four years. Time really did fly by them there, and it had taken a bit to get their bearings. Everything seemed so _strange_ , so eerily cold and different that he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that there was something _else_ he was missing that struck the back of his mind the moment he stepped out of the chamber. Seeing Trunks, seeing Bulma, the West City, all of that was hard enough. Then to find out Gohan and his family had all been brutally murdered, and his wife and youngest son were on the run — all of it a result of Frieza coming back and choosing to conquer over destroy? It didn’t make any sense, none of it did.

At first, he figured it’d be as simple as fighting Frieza again. After the tournament, he’d had a feeling something like this would probably happen eventually — just...not like this. It was supposed to be fight Frieza, defeat Frieza, save the world, find the Dragon Balls and wish everything back to normal, done. That was what it all really boiled down to, right? But that’s not what happened, and that feeling just wouldn’t leave him alone. And since he’d had a chance to look around, he was convinced that there was something else entirely at work here.

Oh, well. He’d just fight  _that_ too.

He arrived at King Kai’s side to find him acting far more erratically than Goku had ever seen before — even more so than how he’d acted when Beerus showed up. They’d gone back and forth a bit, with King Kai doing his best to explain everything that had happened so far and finding time to yell at Goku for being gone so long.

“Listen to me very carefully, Goku,” King Kai said, anxiety practically dripping from his voice. “You cannot rush into this one fists swinging. Frieza’s far more powerful and dangerous than anyone else you’ve ever faced before — and yes, I do mean _anyone else_!”

“Huh? How can that be possible?” Goku asked, clearly skeptical. “There’s no way Frieza got _that_ powerful so quickly.”

“I don’t know, okay?! He just appeared and took over!”

“Just doesn’t seem right,” Goku said. “Frieza took the first chance he got to destroy the earth, not take it over. There’s gotta be something we’re missing...”

But whatever they were missing, it was proving extremely difficult to find. Plus, Goku really had no idea where to even begin — it wasn’t like they just had Beerus on speed-dial, and even if they did, he didn’t think he’d answer anyway. So, Goku did the next best thing: he trained.

“Did you even hear me?!” King Kai yelled as he watched Goku. “Goku, I’m serious! You can’t just punch this one into going away!”

“Aw, come on, King Kai!” Goku laughed. “We both know Frieza wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to fight me again, and since he’s gotten pretty tough since the last time we saw each other, I wanna make sure I’m ready for him.”

“Goku, _please_ , I am begging you to knock this off! This isn’t a game! You’ve got to take this seriously!”

“I _am_ taking this seriously,” Goku said, his tone suddenly much more even than it was before. “Frieza’s responsible for everything that’s happened to earth since I’ve been gone, right? Well, I’m going to make sure he pays.”

King Kai had been unable to dissuade him, and had instead more or less left Goku alone to his training. For the first few days he was there, that was all he did — train and eat and sleep and train some more. But the moment he felt Vegeta’s near-death experience, Goku realized just what King Kai had meant. That feeling was more prominent then, darker and harder to ignore, and it was practically radiating off of Trunks during the battle. Frieza was almost certainly baiting him, whether anyone else realized it or not, and for as much as he wanted to go down there and face him now...no, he had to be patient. He had to focus. He had to train harder, for the sake of the earth and the people living on it still.

He’d make things right again, he knew he would. He _had_ to.

Goku knew going to Vegeta’s side was a trap, and he had faith in the saiyan’s stubbornness to pull him through. With King Kai’s help, he paid close attention to what his friends and family were doing down there, especially Goten. It made him proud knowing that his son was still fighting, still doing the right thing. In the end, his bet had paid off, and before long he had managed to reach out to the saiyan prince once he’d recovered to tell him of Bulma’s escape to South City. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now — at the very least, the group was as together as it could be.

There was, however, one thing he knew he’d been neglecting since his return: his family.

The guilt of knowing he’d been unable to prevent so much tragedy was too much, and with only Chi-Chi and Goten left, he knew he had to do whatever it would take to keep them safe. It was largely how he’d rationalized refusing to go see either of them, because seeing Vegeta with Trunks and Bulma, the way Vegeta had reacted upon seeing Bulla...well, he just didn’t need or want the distraction. He also couldn’t risk leading Frieza to them, not now that he knew everything they’d done to survive. So he chose to stay away, chose not to distract Goten from doing what needed to be done, and chose to keep away from Chi-Chi, no matter how difficult it was not being able to tell her their son was alright. No matter how many times he’d made this choice before, it never got easier.

 

The last few hours since the team on earth had implemented their plan had been tense, with Goku paying close attention to his son’s ki in particular while they waited. At the very least, he trusted Vegeta to keep everyone safe in his absence, and had himself decided to stay away for fear of drawing Frieza to them.

But for all of King Kai’s powers of sight, there was one thing he couldn’t see: Frieza. It was as if there was something keeping King Kai from being able to see what he was doing or even where he was. In a cruel twist of irony, they realized the team was walking into the trap far too late. The moment Goku reached out and felt nothing, he tried to instantly transmit himself to the battle only to discover he just...couldn’t. Well, _that_ was unsettling.

“I told you, Goku!” King Kai said frantically. “If you go there now, he’s just going to kill you and everyone on earth!”

“I can’t just sit here, King Kai!” Goku said, putting his fingers to his forehead again. “If I can’t get there directly, then I’ll just have to—”

“Excuse me!” A feminine voice interrupted both of them, and a sequence of lights danced in the air. Goku immediately dropped into a defensive stance, ready to attack the source of the lights and voice, but just as a petite woman with pale pink skin and hair stepped through, King Kai practically threw himself in front of the saiyan.

“No! No, no, no! Do _not_ attack her!” he yelled before spinning around to face her. “Supreme Kai of Time?!”

“Huh?! Supreme Kai of _what_?” Goku said, a bit dumbfounded but dropping his guard all the same.

“Oops! Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you both,” she said quickly. “But it’s urgent that I speak to you, Goku. It’s about Frieza.”

“Sooo...you know what’s going on?” he asked. 

“It’s too complicated to explain right now, but know that we’ve been doing everything we can to try and stop him ourselves. I’m only coming to you because we’ve...we’ve failed,” she said, shaking her head. “Listen closely: the Frieza in your world is not the same Frieza you’ve faced before. At least, not here anyway. He’s a different version from another timeline altogether.”

Thoroughly lost already, Goku could only stare. “What do you mean?”

“He is but he isn’t...oh, how can I make this easy to understand?” she said, wringing her hands together for a moment while she thought. “Oh! It’s like during the Tournament of Power, when all those fighters were gathered from different universes, except with the space-time continuum!”

“Wait...so you mean he’s still Frieza, but somehow from another time altogether?” he asked, a little unsure. She nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Well, sort of. Frieza somehow broke into _my_ Vault and stole the ability to bend space and time to his will, and he’s been using that power to travel throughout every alternate timeline and universe he can find to kill _you_.”

“That sure sounds like something he’d do,” Goku said, sounding not quite as disturbed as she might have expected. “But why’d he stop here?”

“Because you’re not dead yet,” she said. “He plans on conquering _everything_ , and he knows he needs to kill you first.”

“Oh, man...sounds like he’ll be tough to beat,” Goku said, thoughtfully — but not thoughtfully enough to be dissuaded. “Sure hope I’ve trained enough!”

“W-what? Wait, you can’t go fight him!” she said. “If he kills you here too, there’ll be no one else to stop him!”

Goku stopped mid-stretch to look at her quizzically. “How am I supposed to stop him if I can’t go fight him?”

“I—look, it’s more complicated than that,” the Supreme Kai said. “I had hoped that by hiding you, he would have given up and moved on and that way I’d have more time to prepare. I just didn’t realize how far he’d already come.”

“Hiding me? Wait, does that mean...” Goku started, understanding beginning to touch at his voice. It quickly mixed with resentment. “It was you... _you_ kept us in the chamber all this time, didn’t you?”

The Supreme Kai paused as if she was considering something before she nodded. “Yes, I did. And...I’m sorry, Goku.”

He could hardly hold back the rush of anger from exploding out of him. “What, are you crazy?! Why would you do that?! We could have prevented any of this from happening!”

“Goku! That’s no way to speak to the Supreme Kai of Time!” King Kai yelled, but Goku didn’t seem to hear him.

“Tell me why!” he demanded, stepping forward. “Gohan, Videl, Pan — tell me why you let them die!”

But the Supreme Kai didn’t appear rattled or even remotely fazed by his anger. Rather, she seemed almost sympathetic as she watched him barely contain his outrage.

“Because you’re our last hope,” she finally said, her voice shaking. “Frieza’s killed every other Goku throughout the multiverse. You’re the only one left.”

 

“Sorry I kept you waiting.”

He’d come to earth to find a battlefield littered in the bodies of fallen Frieza Forces, to Vegeta lying unconscious among the ruins of a battered ship, and to his son staring down death. He’d come to earth against both King Kai and the Supreme Kai of Time’s wishes, because he had no choice. The plan wasn’t ready, wasn’t fully realized, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else die. Not today.

“ _Goku_ ,” Frieza said, a trace of delight in his voice. “How impolite. You really did keep us all in suspense for so very long.”

“Don’t worry — I’ll make it up to you soon enough,” Goku said, keeping his tone even. He could hear Vegeta as he began to regain consciousness, but kept his eyes locked onto Frieza. “Let them go, Frieza.”

“And why would I do that?” Frieza said, pointing one finger at Goten and the other at Vegeta. “Perhaps I want a real fight out of you.”

“Trust me, you’ll get more than that if you let them go.”

Frieza considered Goku for a moment, small balls of light forming on his fingertips menacingly before they abruptly extinguished themselves and he let out a laugh. “Oh, you’ve always been a man of your word haven’t you, Goku? Very well — they live for now.”

Without letting Frieza out of his line of sight, Goku turned his head slightly so that he could address Goten as he struggled to sit up. “Goten, take Vegeta and get out of here.”

“Dad, I—”

“Now, Goten. We’ll talk later, I promise.”

Goten hesitated only a moment before he finally managed to stand and limp to the saiyan prince’s side, taking one of Vegeta’s arms over his shoulders to get him upright. Vegeta let out a hiss, his face contorted with pain as Goten moved him. Frieza’s laugh was low and sinister as his eyes trailed after the two.

“I hope you realize that the quick death I offered them would have been better than what they’ll get instead once I’m done with you,” he said. “You’ve doomed them to a worse fate.”

“Enough talk, Frieza,” Goku said, letting a wave of power rush off of himself as his hair turned blue. “I’m going to finish this once and for all.”

“Honestly, I never get tired of hearing you say that.”

Goku moved first, shooting himself forward only to instinctively spin around to catch Frieza’s tail, and swung around to punch Frieza in the face. Where he might have expected at least some reaction, however, he found nothing but a smirk.

“You really are stronger than you were before,” Goku said, almost sounding impressed. “I put a lot of force into that one, and you didn’t even blink.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Frieza said before whipping his tail from Goku’s grasp and spinning round to kick him in the chest. It seemed as though Frieza knew his every move before he made it, moving gracefully away from each strike Goku attempted, each blast he sent after him. But Goku himself wasn’t far behind either; he knew Frieza’s techniques well enough to dip and dodge when necessary, and get in the occasional hit, even if it didn’t seem to do much. It reminded the saiyan of the tournament, when he and Frieza had fought side by side — except this time, they were back where they started.

Several minutes passed with neither doing much damage to the other at all, and Goku could see the slightest hint of irritation crossing Frieza’s face. He must be doing something different from the other Gokus — either that, or Frieza was just running out of patience. At one point, Frieza shot back away from Goku and stared Goku down for a moment before letting his lips twist into another cruel sneer.

“How would you like to spice things up a bit, Goku?” he said in a manner Goku wasn’t completely happy with. In an instant, a man in a black uniform appeared between Frieza and Goku. His face was concealed by a solid white mask that wrapped around his head, but Goku could sense something familiar about him. At the very least, the power emanating off of him identified him as a saiyan — and a powerful one at that.

Silently, he held up the severed head of 17 in his hand, giving Goku full view of the sight before he dropped it to the ground below. Goku felt his mouth twitch in anger, his fists clenching even tighter, but he forced himself to remain steady. Everything he felt he knew had to be tucked away for now. It was just another thing Frieza was going to have to pay for.

“Afraid to face me yourself, Frieza?” Goku said, eyes locked onto the masked man.

“No,” Frieza replied. “Just _curious_.”

With that, the masked man vanished and reappeared behind Goku only to be met with a back kick to the gut. The man caught hold of Goku’s leg and used it to yank him closer. Goku countered with his other leg, using the momentum to swing another kick around the man’s head. The man ducked, releasing Goku, who took advantage of his newfound freedom and struck again. The man vanished and then reappeared below him, a ki blast charging up at Goku, who dodged it in time and answered with his own. The man disappeared again, and struck Goku from above, two fists connecting with the back of Goku’s head to send him flying down. He caught himself mid-air, then teleported behind the masked man to mimic the same move, sending the man plummeting to the ground below.

“You’ll pay for what you did to 17,” Goku said to the man as he began to rise again. “And then I’m coming for you, Frieza!”

As predicted, the masked man said nothing, instead falling into a defensive stance as Goku let off a barrage of ki blasts. He shot up from the dust to meet Goku in the air, sending shockwaves through the air around them as each of their blows met the other’s. While the masked man was clearly talented, Goku was the undeniably superior fighter; he moved quickly, landing hit after hit on the masked man who just kept coming right back. Any other normal human would have broken by now, or at least succumbed to some of their injuries — hell, even Vegeta would have at least slowed down by now. But not this guy. Not yet. He  _had_ to be in some pain at least, the thought had crossed Goku’s mind more than once during their fight. Finally, a perfectly timed kiai struck the masked man from behind and sent him flying into the side of a nearby ledge, with Goku immediately on him. He brought his fist down hard against the mask, the material cracking under Goku’s fist.

The force of the punch was enough to send the masked man deeper into the ledge. Goku hovered in the air while he waited, eyes narrowed and focused entirely on the direction he’d sent his opponent flying. Then after only a few seconds, he felt a surge of energy above him and brought both arms up to block the incoming blast. He could hear the masked man’s screams as he seemed to put all of his energy into the blast, and though it was certainly powerful, it didn’t take much for Goku to gain enough control to deflect it back to him. The other man was barely able to withstand his own attack, and the sounds of his heavy, ragged breathing mixed with Frieza’s laughter filled the space between them. But when the dust began to settle, Goku felt a sickening twist in his gut as his eyes took in what lay beneath the mask.

_Gohan._

“No,” Goku said. “ _No!_ ” Rage and devastation tore through him like a storm — he could feel his hands begin to shake as he watched Gohan, clearly exhausted and beaten, fall right back into attack position and launch himself into Goku. He jerked back and began a series of evasive movements, trying desperately to wrap his head around what he was seeing and feeling all at once, while his thoughts were drowned out by Frieza’s shrill laughter. This was cruel, even by Frieza’s standards. Too cruel.

“Gohan, stop!” Goku yelled in between the attempted strikes. “Listen to me! I’m not gonna fight you!”

If Gohan could hear him, he wasn’t listening. Even as his movements became slower and slower with each swing, he was refusing to give up, occasionally letting out low grunts of pain, the wounds from their earlier fight bleeding more and more with every action he took. He was going to kill himself. Goku could feel the panic rising in him as he watched his son in horror. “Frieza! Stop this _now_!”

“Oh I’m sorry, Goku, but I can’t do that,” Frieza said, positively delighted. “He won’t stop until at least one of you is dead.”

Fury shot through him, but he forced himself to focus on Gohan instead; for now, saving his son was his only priority. He kept moving, kept waiting for his opportunity until he saw it — then he shot forward and grabbed Gohan from behind, pinning his arms to his sides with a tight hold.

“Stop, Gohan!” Goku pleaded against Gohan’s writhing, his wild fighting to break free. He tightened his grip in an effort to keep his son as still as possible, but the task proved increasingly more difficult as time wore on. With Gohan’s skin started to warm up rapidly — the tell-tale signs of an impending super saiyan transformation — Goku knew he was running out of options. “Sorry, Gohan, but I have to do this.” Quickly, he loosened his hold enough so that he could lean back and headbutt the back of Gohan’s head _hard_ , silently praying that he wouldn’t need to repeat the action.

It worked; Gohan went limp almost instantly, and Goku had to close himself around his son again to keep him from falling. Frieza’s laughter died, and he let out a furious growl as Goku gently laid his unconscious son down on a clear patch of grass. Gohan was still alive, but Goku couldn’t be sure just how bad his injuries were.

Guilt was quickly matched by rage. Whatever Frieza was saying to him, whatever angry rant he was going off on, Goku didn’t hear. He remained crouched beside his son, staring intensely at him. His mind had gone completely blank. His body recognized the creeping surge of power beginning to flourish inside of him, spreading out through every nerve in his body like a ripple effect from the emotion in his chest.

“You should know better, Frieza,” he said, interrupting Frieza mid-sentence. “You of all people should know better. You’re going to pay for this. For everything.”

The chuckle Frieza gave was dark and ominous. “ _Finally_.”

Some part of Goku knew it had been bait, that Frieza had done whatever he had to Gohan specifically against Goku. But he didn’t care anymore. He _couldn’t_ care anymore. Not after everything he’d seen, the pain Frieza had caused, the way he took his son and made him into a puppet. Every fiber of his being was enraged. So he shoved aside every thought he had and focused on one thing alone: defeat Frieza.

His body moved automatically, every action delivered was calculated and intentional, yet carried so much more power than before. He and Frieza met in the air, each met one another with a force that rattled the trees below. Each blow might have killed a normal being under normal circumstances, yet Frieza met every one tit for tat. The sudden increase in Frieza’s abilities did nothing to dissuade Goku; if anything, it only encouraged him.

But once again, he must have been doing something different. More than once did he catch Frieza in brief moments of weakness, of seemingly expecting one thing while Goku did something else entirely. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take full advantage of. At one point, he caught Frieza’s guard down long enough to send the conqueror hurtling into the remains of his ship, completely decimating what was left of it from the sheer force alone.

“You insolent little monkey! I’ll end you and this entire planet once and for all!” Frieza screamed, charging up a blast before Goku sent his own to deflect it into the sky. Goku didn’t give him any time to react or recover; he flew forward and launched into a bombardment of blows. All of his anger, all of his grief, all of his pain went into every one of his hits.

And when Frieza flew at him with anger clear in his eyes, Goku _knew_ he had him on the ropes. But instead of attacking, Frieza abruptly shot higher into the sky, his arms raised above his head as he began laughing maniacally. “I’ve waited years for this moment! I won’t stand for you ruining it!”

Goku had only just moved to go after him when something in the back of his mind told him to stop. Then, he saw it — a swirling mass of energy, deep purple and black in color, formed above Frieza, followed by another, then another just a few feet away. Goku grit his teeth at the sight, unable to sense what they were or what Frieza planned to do with them.

 _‘Th-they’re wormholes!’_ The Supreme Kai of Time’s voice rang out in his head. _‘To other timelines! Other universes! Goku —_ _this is bad. This is very, very bad!’_

“What is he doing?” Goku said, bringing his fists up to ready himself once again.

_‘If he brings anything through that, it’ll tear a hole through the fabric of time itself! It could destroy everything!’_

“Then I guess I’ll have to stop him before he does.” Goku brought his hands together and lowered his body slightly, his entire focus going into the collection of energy he gathered in his palms. “Ka...me…”

_‘W-wait, Goku!’_

“Ha...me..!”

_‘Goku, stop! That’s just going to make it wor—’_

“HA!”

 

He should have listened to the Supreme Kai. The realization sunk in slowly as he watched the beam of blinding light sink itself into Frieza, pressing him into the wormhole. Shrill screams were drowned out by the sounds of a deep, rolling rumble that came echoing from the black pit. As soon as Frieza had disappeared fully into the black, a silence followed — only to be broken by an explosion of darkness that drowned out all the light from the sky. Goku brought his arms up to shield himself from the wave of pure, untamed energy that rushed over him.

The darkness continued to spread, the force of which was pounding into the earth, cracking the ground apart. Instinctively he looked down to find his son, who was still unconscious, and rushed down to catch him before he fell into a widening chasm beside him. He took them both to a nearby cliff, landing onto the unaffected ground below. He held onto Gohan tightly as he stared in disbelief, unable to fully understand exactly what was happening.

 _‘Goku…’_ the Supreme Kai said, her voice shaking. _‘S-something’s coming through!’_

All at once Goku felt another rumbling of power and the massive wormhole in the center ruptured. At first, it only looked like streams of darkness pouring out, twisting through the air until they landed on the ground below. An echo of laughter followed suit, and Goku looked up in time to see Frieza descending from the wormhole, his skin gold and purple.

“You see, Goku? Do you see what power I possess?” Frieza said with malicious glee. “I am so much more powerful than even you could imagine.”

The streams of darkness dissipated into forms of men and women, each one wearing armor that sent a chill down Goku’s spine. He didn’t have to wonder long who they were — it was obvious from the sheer power they all seemed to radiate.

_Saiyans._

“Why?” Goku said, staring hard at the hundreds of thousands of them appearing below. “After everything you did...you destroyed them before...what makes you think they’ll follow you now?”

“We all change, Goku. It just takes the right _motivation_ ,” Frieza said. “And if you filthy monkeys are good for anything, you certainly make excellent cannon fodder. I will destroy this planet, and everyone you care about, root and stem. I will not grant them a quick, merciful death; I will take them slowly, and they will all know you are responsible for their pain.”

 _‘Goku, the wormhole is closing!’_ The Supreme Kai of Time cried in his mind. _‘You have to get out of there! If it closes while you’re too close, you could get sucked in!’_

He paused, his eyes trailing from Frieza’s laughing form and sweeping down over the saiyans forming into obedient lines. Then, he brought his gaze back to Gohan’s face and lingered there a moment.

“You tried to take everything from me before. You failed,” he said. Goku bent to set Gohan down carefully, taking one last look at him before he turned his attention back to Frieza. “You’ll fail again here too, Frieza.”

With that, he powered up instantly and practically threw himself forward, charging full speed at Frieza. The two caught each other into a deadlock, their fists pressing into the other’s as they both struggled for dominance. The overwhelming pressure pulsing from the wormhole above wasn’t lost on Goku as they fought.

 _‘Get out of there!’_ The Supreme Kai of Time yelled again. _‘No one will be able to save you if you get pulled in!’_

“I hear that a lot!” he yelled back, bringing a hard kick across Frieza’s face. “And maybe this time, that’ll be the case. But it’s the only way!”

_‘You can’t possibly mean...’_

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Goku said. He abruptly disappeared, and reappeared in time to trap Frieza into a full nelson as the blackness began to expand over them.

“What are you doing, you idiot?!” Frieza yelled, jerking around in Goku’s hold. It took every ounce of strength to keep him in place, but Goku held strong.

“Take care of everyone until I get back,” Goku said. “And if I don’t come back...well, guess we’ll see.”

_‘Goku, don’t—!’_

The black consumed the two slowly, cold tendrils crawling all over and through his body. It seemed to take root inside of him, clinging to every bone and twisting viciously around every muscle. Whatever strength he had left he used to keep Frieza from escaping while at the same time ignoring every instinct that was screaming for him to run as they were swallowed whole.

As the darkness crept over the edges of his mind, Goku was vaguely aware of just how relaxed he suddenly felt. Had death really become so familiar to him? Ah, well...it couldn’t be helped, not with who he was and what kind of life he’d always led. In the end, it always came down to the same thing; defeat the bad guy, save the world. What happened after didn’t really matter, so long as everyone else was safe.

And everyone would be okay without him. He just knew they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'FORSAKEN' WILL CONTINUE SOON
> 
> Goku chapter courtesy of mojitos and screaming along to 80's power ballads.
> 
> Thank you for reading the first half of my story! I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I need a brief break to organize my notes and prepare the next part of the story. (If anyone is interested in assisting with proof-reading/editing, I would be very appreciative for the help! Please see the tumblr link in my profile for contact.)


	22. Venturis Vintis

“Go...Goten,” his voice was ragged and his throat was dry; it hurt to speak. “We...we have to go back.”

“Are you nuts?” Goten said. He still had one of Vegeta’s arms draped over his shoulders, his hand clutching hard around Vegeta’s — either to keep him steady or out of fear, the Saiyan wasn’t sure which. “We’ll die if we go back.”

“K-Kakarot will too,” Vegeta said as he began trying to pull away. Goten tightened his grip and shook his head, but said nothing. He propelled them further forward until the clearing came into view, and Vegeta caught sight of blue hair.

“Vegeta!” Bulma yelled as she rushed forward to meet them. Goten shifted so that Vegeta could stand on his own, though the younger kept one hand on his shoulder to keep him steady. Krillin looked at them as they landed but remained at Bulla’s side, who was leaning back against a rock holding a cloth to her forehead. Vegeta willed himself to look away from her and forced his legs to steel themselves as his wife neared. “Here, I have pills — oh god, you look awful.”

“I’m fine, Bulma,” he grumbled through gritted teeth, but took the medipills from her anyway and swallowed them down dry. They weren’t Senzu Beans, but at least it was something. It didn’t take too long to feel the way they slowly began easing the pain out of his body.

“We have to go back,” he said again to Goten, who answered with a grimace.

Bulma didn’t seem to understand either. “What?! Please tell me that’s a poor attempt at a joke; because let me tell you something—”

“Kakarot is no match for Frieza,” he said, interrupting her. “If we don’t go back and help, then we all die.”

“Vegeta, if _you_ go back, _you’re_ going to die!”

“I’m not going to sit here while—”

The sky turned black abruptly, effectively ending their argument just as it was getting more heated. They both turned to look up, with Vegeta searching for any signs of what happened. For a fleeting moment, he thought perhaps someone had summoned Shenron — but that thought was dashed aside as he laid eyes on the massive black holes forming in the distance. The same place they’d just come from.

“D-dad,” Goten said, taking a step in that direction. Vegeta clenched his fists and set his jaw, his brow furrowing as he focused on the intense energy coming from there.

“What _is_ that?” Bulma said, her voice shaking. She stepped closer to Vegeta and wrapped a trembling arm around him protectively, while Vegeta let the waves of energy wash over him. A flash of light exploded in the distance and vanished into the black, and Vegeta felt a deep, horrible coldness settle in the pit of his stomach.

“That was my dad,” Goten said. “He...he won, right? There’s no way Frieza survived that!” But even Goten couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice, and when black tendrils dropped from the sky, his shoulders sagged.

Vegeta turned away abruptly, pulling his arm away from Bulma so that he could stagger to the pile of medical supplies they had sitting nearby. His entire body ached in protest, his legs almost refusing to cooperate, but he made it. He supposed he was lucky Frieza was content to simply bat him around, he’d thought bitterly, furious as it made him to admit it. At the very least, he didn’t have a new hole in his chest this time around.

“Vegeta, _no_ ,” Bulma said, once she seemed to realize what he was doing. He was busy setting his broken wrist with a bandage and refused to look at her. “Are you even listening to me?! Don’t you _dare_ go back there, Vegeta, I’m serious!”

He grunted as he tied the bandage off, using his teeth to tighten the knot. As his hands reached for the small container of medipills, Bulma swiped them away and held them against her chest defensively.

“ _Bulma_ ,” he warned with a growl.

“No! I’m not letting you get yourself killed!” she yelled. “Do you hear me?! You’ve almost died _twice_ now, Vegeta! I can’t take it anymore!”

Goten stepped closer to them. Vegeta watched the way he put his guard up, and he knew the boy was debating whether or not to take her side. Vegeta’s eyes narrowed at her before he made his decision — his hands shot forward, one grabbing both of her wrists firmly while the other snatched the bottle from her hands. Never had he been as physical as he was with her now, but she’d left him no choice.

“Vegeta!” she gasped before flying into another tirade that he’d already stopped listening to. He popped open the cap and downed another pill, then tossed the bottle to Goten.

“Stay here,” he barked before taking off, Bulma’s voice still yelling after him as he hurtled as fast as his body would allow back to the battlefield. He wasn’t surprised when Goten and Krillin appeared at his side, though he did shoot a glare at them both.

“We’re coming with you,” Krillin said.

“I can see that,” he snapped. “You’re both idiots.”

“We have to find Seeda,” Goten said. “She might still be on the ship.”

 _Or what’s left of it,_ Vegeta finished inwardly. He had his doubts that the woman survived as the ship collapsed around her, but he chose to keep his doubts to himself. The boy already looked like he’d had enough for one day.

They slowed down as they approached, but Vegeta stopped completely when he took in the sight spread over the field. Hundreds of thousands of men and women stood in imperfect lines, their loud voices roaring through the air like a stampede. He knew those voices, knew the armor they wore all too well.

“Uh, h-hey Vegeta?” Krillin began. “Aren’t those—”

“Get down!” he called to them, who looked back at him before they followed his descent to the grassy cliff side below.

“Who are those guys?” Goten asked. Vegeta remained silent as his thoughts began racing. How was this possible? And why the _hell_ would they even be here? It didn’t make any goddamn sense.

“Those are Saiyans, aren’t they?” Krillin said, disrupting the rush in his head. “I can tell they’re powerful—way more powerful than the other soldiers that were here earlier.”

“Saiyans? But I thought they were all…” Goten trailed off as he glanced to Vegeta, who had crossed his arms and worked to silence his mind. “Vegeta?”

“Shut up,” he said curtly. “I’m trying to think.”

Vegeta wasn’t an idiot — he could put two and two together just fine and figure out that the giant purple rifts in the sky must have _something_ to do with how there was suddenly a Saiyan army there. But the _why_ was what disturbed him. If Frieza was behind this, what could he have possibly gained by bringing an entire people he hated so much that he exterminated them to this planet?

“Saiyans!” The sound of a woman’s voice boomed over the rumbling, and the three men moved stealthily toward the edge to look over it. That woman — Almone, maybe — hovered in the air above the army that was now looking at her in silence. She held her arms out as she continued to speak.

“Lord Frieza has recognized your _undying_ loyalty, and gifts to you the bounty of this planet! Go! Bring them to their knees!” There was a roar of cheers from the army, and a grimace crossed Vegeta’s features. He knew exactly what was meant by that — now on top of everything, they’d have to contend with an army none of these earthlings could even hope to prepare for. It also meant Vegeta was going to be very, _very_ busy.

Vegeta continued to scowl to himself while the rows of saiyans continued their cheering. His eyes scanned over the crowd, trying to land on anyone he might recognize among them. For now, however, they were just strangers to him. He turned his attention back up to the massive hole in the sky, glaring at the power emanating from it. He didn’t understand what it was, not really, or how it could have brought a saiyan army here of all places. But he somehow knew that _that_ was where Kakarot had disappeared to — and he’d taken Frieza with him.

Goten let out a gasp so sharp and sudden that both Vegeta and Krillin nearly gave themselves whiplash. He was pointing down from where they were, to another ledge below them to the shape of what appeared to be an unconscious man.

“I-it’s...that’s…” Goten was stuttering, as if unable to speak. But he didn’t need to, because Vegeta saw it too: Gohan, bleeding and bruised, and barely breathing. Vegeta instantly reached out to grab Goten by the arm and yanked him down to the ground, causing the young man to let out a half-surprised, half-angry yelp. They were both lying on their stomachs now, with Vegeta holding Goten.

“Let go, Vegeta! He needs help!” Goten said, pleadingly.

“ _Wait_ ,” Vegeta hissed, turning his attention back to the army. They were breaking into a variety of groups, no doubt fighting among themselves as they did so. While he doubted many were paying much attention to the cliff side, Vegeta knew it wasn’t the time for that kind of risk — loathe as he was to admit it, he doubted his body could handle transforming into even just a super saiyan, let alone anything above that. The medipills didn’t work quite as fast as a Senzu Bean, and even now he felt his body protesting against every movement he made.

“Vegeta, if that’s really Gohan down there, then he looks hurt real bad,” Krillin said, his fists clenched on the ground in front of him. Vegeta said nothing, instead focusing on the groups that were beginning to take off in different directions. Just as the army had dwindled down to only a few, Goten managed to successfully wrench himself away from Vegeta to drop down to the ledge beside Gohan. Vegeta let out an irritated scoff as Krillin followed, then shot one last glance at the field before dropping down as well.

Goten seemed at once in awe and utterly bewildered as he stared at Gohan. For a moment, he didn’t seem able to move, frozen with whatever emotions he was working through. Krillin moved for him, reaching over to check Gohan’s pulse before frowning. Vegeta didn’t need to check for anything to know how badly the man was injured; he of all people knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such injuries.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Vegeta snapped impatiently. Goten turned his head up to stare at Vegeta for a moment before he realized what the older man meant, then quickly retrieved a medipill from his pocket. After a couple of awkward attempts at getting the pill in Gohan’s mouth, he went right back to staring dumbly, to which Vegeta made another impatient noise. Vegeta had had just about enough of it when Krillin finally spoke up, shooting a glance up at the other man.

“Hey, Goten,” Krillin said, “we should probably get outta here, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” Goten said quietly. “We should go.”

 

Vegeta had taken on the task of carrying Gohan back to the abandoned gas station, with Goten trailing directly behind him the entire way. Krillin remained behind for a bit, having insisted upon searching for Seeda once the rest of the Saiyans had cleared. His head was pounding and his muscles felt strained as he carried the man. The closer they got back to their makeshift camp, the more clearly he could hear his wife’s voice shouting at him upon their approach.

“You’re just lucky you came back in one piece, you hear me?!” Bulma was loudly declaring as Vegeta’s feet touched the ground but paused upon noticing that he was carrying someone over his shoulder. “Who is—”

“It’s Gohan!” Goten said, choking back the emotion in his voice. “Bulma, it’s really Gohan — he’s alive, but he...he needs help! Frieza must have done this.”

Vegeta said nothing, only offering Bulma a look he knew she’d understand. Goten rushed into the old store and began clearing off space on the counter, allowing the Saiyan prince to lay Gohan down on it. Now it was Bulma’s turn to stare at Gohan, pity and pain mixing on her face as she sniffled lightly to herself. In truth, it was more bizarre than anything to Vegeta to see Gohan like this. Even more so as he recognized the bruising pattern across his arms and chest, and knew instantly that it certainly wasn’t Frieza who caused them. Something wasn’t right.

“What is _he_ doing here?” An angry voice cut through every other feeling happening in the room, and the three looked up to see Bulla standing by a wall. The blood had been more or less wiped from her face, save for some lingering remnants under her eye and down her chin, and the dark cloth had been wrapped around her forehead.

“He’s my brother,” Goten said as if that explained everything, seemingly unaware of the tone in her voice.

The intensity of her expression as she stared hard at them wasn’t lost on Vegeta; he recognized it in himself sometimes. Her lips thinned and she looked as though she might say something before she abruptly turned and left the station. Vegeta watched as his wife set about doing what she could for Gohan with Goten hovering close by.

“Goten, honey,” she started gently. “I’m gonna need you to give me some space here.”

“Oh...sorry, ma’am,” Goten said, taking a single step back. Bulma shook her head.

“Why don’t you and Vegeta go eat?” she suggested, glancing over her shoulder at Vegeta, shooting him a look. He grunted and stepped forward, folding his arms over his chest.

“You heard her,” he said. “Move it, boy.”

But Goten didn’t seem willing to comply, and after only a moment’s pause, Vegeta stepped forward and grabbed the back of his shirt roughly. “H-hey!” Goten protested against him, though naturally, Vegeta ignored him as he dragged him out of the station.

“It’s pointless just standing around like that,” he said, releasing Goten only once the younger stopped struggling. “You’ll only get in her way.”

“Vegeta — Gohan’s _alive_ ,” Goten said. “Don’t you know what that means?”

“Nothing right now,” Vegeta said. “And if you keep getting in the way, he won’t be for much longer.”

Maybe Goten wanted to punch him, or yell at him, or do _anything_. But he did nothing instead, and Vegeta let out a scoff at his inaction. At the very least, the boy seemed to know he was right. The pair worked in silence as they searched through the various backpacks for food, pulling out as many packages as they could. By the time they’d had a stew boiling over a fire, Krillin returned empty-handed, shaking his head sadly at Goten.

“I’m sure she got out,” Krillin offered, though Goten said nothing in reply. He just put on that same sad face he’d grown so fond of lately and resumed his work.

The entire time they were preparing dinner, Vegeta found himself frequently glancing over at his daughter. She was sitting close to the road on top of a boulder with her back to them and had been silent since she laid eyes on Gohan. He didn’t miss the way she looked at the unconscious man, her eyes filled with rage and fear all at once. Between that and the fact he _knew_ Kakarot was responsible for his condition, Vegeta was well aware that none of it added up the way Goten seemed to think it did.

Of course, the moment Bulma emerged from the station, Goten was right back inside. Bulma approached Vegeta and let out a tired sigh.

“It’s so surreal seeing him again,” she said. “I thought for sure he was...I mean, the fight between him and Frieza was so terrible...it-it destroyed a city.” Vegeta offered a grunt in reply.

“Do you think…” she stepped closer to Vegeta and lowered her voice further before she continued. “Do you think they did the same thing to him that they did to Trunks?”

“We won’t let it be a problem even if they did,” he replied. Bulma bit the inside of her cheek but nodded despite her displeasure at his words. She looked in Bulla’s direction and then nudged Vegeta lightly with her elbow.

“Have you said anything to her yet?” she said. Vegeta’s silence caused her to shake her head. “She’s just like you, you know. She was practically spitting fire at me when I was trying to patch up her forehead. Honestly, you two are so stubborn.”

“Tch. Says _you_ ,” Vegeta said. “Pot and kettle woman.”

“I’m not even going to be mad about that,” she said, laughing slightly to herself. “I’m just that impressed you used such an earthy phrase. Well, almost used. It was close enough!”

Bulma smiled coyly at him when he let out an irritated huff, then moved to scoop up a large helping of the stew into a bowl. He watched as she walked over to Bulla, his eyes narrowing at the way their daughter shifted away from Bulma reactively. She seemed to be on guard, far more than was necessary when surrounded by family. She occasionally reached for her forehead, and he watched as she pulled away when Bulma attempted to do the same.

The memory of how she’d received the injury — of witnessing Frieza using her to provoke him into an unrelenting fury — made his blood turn to lava under his skin all over again. He’d known at the time that it was bait, a trap just waiting for him, and he’d thrown himself into it all the same. How could he not? She was his daughter. Frieza wasn’t going to have her anymore.

“Listen up, young lady!” Bulma said, suddenly louder than she was before. “I _know_ you’re starving because I _know_ how much even half-Saiyans need to eat! You better just suck it up and eat this stew or I’m gonna sit here until you do, you hear me?!”

The corner of his lip twitched slightly at the sight. It never ceased to impress him that Bulma could remain so steadfast in her ways in spite of anything that was thrown at her. The woman stuck to her word and remained standing there next to Bulla, commenting loudly how cold the stew was getting before the young woman finally relented and took the bowl from her.

For now, he knew these quiet moments would become fewer and further between. The looming threat wasn’t so far away anymore; it had come to them in full force, and even with Frieza gone it was obvious things wouldn’t be getting any easier. As Bulma continued to chastise Bulla for being so stubborn, he found himself become more resolute than before. Kakarot may have vanished, but Vegeta was still there. This so-called  _Saiyan army_ did not concern him in the very least, and they would soon come to know the power that their prince wielded.


	23. Guilty Party

Twenty years. It had been twenty years since Goten had lost his brother, and fifteen since he came to terms with his death. In that time, he and his mother had made due where they could; they sacrificed, they compromised, they did everything in their power to move on, all while they carried grief with them like an unspoken burden.

Gohan had been everything to them. When Frieza first came, he was the reason they’d managed to get away in time. He protected them, cared for them, looked out for them. But then he lost Videl and Pan, and it was like something in him snapped — all he could think about was revenge. When he chased after it and never came back, he left behind a void that had taken them fourteen years to close up even just a little. In that time, Goten and Chi-Chi had held onto memories of better times in hopes of shaking off the bad ones.

Seeing Gohan again, seeing that he was _alive_ , left Goten feeling all kinds of conflicted. Twenty years worth of anger and guilt and sorrow and every other emotion imaginable came flooding back in an instant, so rapidly that he couldn’t even think straight. If Vegeta and Krillin hadn’t been there to bring him back to earth, he probably would still be sitting on that cliff side staring, slack-jawed and useless.

Getting back to camp had been a blur; Goten trailed behind Vegeta as they went, unable to let Gohan out of his sight, afraid that if he did his brother would disappear somehow. He knew it was irrational, that of course he probably wouldn’t, but...the fear gripped him so tightly that he felt like a child again. Annoyed as he was when Vegeta dragged him away from the station, part of him begrudgingly understood. He really _was_ kind of useless, hovering over Bulma’s shoulder and getting in her way every time she turned around. Much as he wanted to rush back in the second Vegeta had released him, he’d also known he shouldn’t, and so he reluctantly helped the Saiyan prince pool what food they had into a large pot on a fire. It managed to keep him busy, at the very least, though he still stole glances at the station when he could.

Krillin returning without Seeda only served to exacerbate his anxieties, and learning that he had found 17’s disembodied head among the dead soldiers made him feel sick. A wash of guilt swept over him for how selfish he’d been for the last few hours. He’d gone back to find her and yet he hadn’t even really thought about her since he laid eyes on Gohan, and learning of 17’s death left him feeling hollow. He knew it wasn’t his fault, that when you find out your brother that had been dead for twenty years was actually alive it would distract pretty much anyone. Regardless, the rationalization still did nothing to ease his conscience, and his sleep was restless that night.

Waking up to find that Gohan was still there and indeed still alive was of some consolation. His head felt clearer now that he’d had some rest, and when Bulma assured him that she did, in fact, know what she was doing when she was checking on Gohan, he let himself relax just a little bit.

“Really Goten, you don’t need to worry so much,” Bulma said. “He’s going to be alright.” It was odd to him that Gohan was still unconscious after the number of medipills he’d been given, and Goten had a distinct notion that she wasn’t quite saying everything, that maybe she was holding something back. But he decided not to press her — perhaps a small part of him didn’t really want to know why Gohan hadn’t woken up yet.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bulma,” he said as he stepped back out of the station. “It’s just…”

“Hey, I get it! Trust me, I was the same way when I saw Vegeta again,” she smiled to herself. “It hurts a little, right? Knowing that all this time, they were actually there.” He nodded to her. “Well, it’s gonna keep hurting if you focus on it too much. We’ve got too much to do to stop now, you hear me?” She reached up and patted his cheek fondly, and he couldn’t help but smile a little himself. He knew she was right, that even if his father had somehow stopped Frieza, there was still too much work that needed doing before they could enjoy a luxury like time. Especially with a Saiyan army out there now, doing who knows what to the world.

“Yeah! You’re right,” he said, his voice lighter than it had been in days.

“Well, duh! Of course I am!” she said with a huff. “Now go find Krillin. I need you two to do something for me, and you’re the least likely to be recognized out there.”

“Uh, sure but...what do you need us to do?”

 

As it turns out, the food Goten, Krillin, and Seeda had packed was meant for a fairly short trip to West City and not much more. The only reason they’d had enough to last this long was because they were feeding one Saiyan stomach. They’d run out the night before with barely enough to fill three Saiyan appetites; Goten had offered what he had left to Bulla who, in spite of how weary she looked, rejected it outright and shot him an offended glare. His awkward apology only served to irritate her further and she walked away from him before he’d even finished. But he supposed he couldn’t blame her, really — he was also feeling pretty wired with an empty stomach nagging at him. And by the time he was set to leave with Krillin, Goten got to experience a hangry Vegeta. The man was such a damn monster that even Bulma was having trouble getting him to calm down.

“Make sure you get _real_ food,” he barked at them. “Meat, and lots of it!”

“Bring back something sweet,” Bulla added, her own demand sounding even sharper than Vegeta’s somehow.

“They’ll get what they can get and you two will be happy with it!” Bulma snapped, pushing by him and handing Krillin all the zeni she had with her. “ _Please_ hurry.” She whispered her plea to them. Both he and Krillin looked over her shoulder to take in the sight of Bulla and Vegeta sulking just a few feet away. They were sitting with their backs turned away from one another, but managed to mirror each other with their arms crossed and angry glares etched into their faces. Krillin nodded sympathetically at Bulma and Goten felt quite lucky that they were the ones leaving.

“Good luck,” he murmured to Bulma, who offered a heavy, exhausted sigh in response.

They used one of the capsule cars for their journey, deciding it was better to be safe than sorry and faced with a group of Saiyans looking for a fight. Goten didn’t know that much about them, other than what he’d been told about his father and what he’d gleaned from Vegeta’s stories to Trunks. He knew that they were incredibly strong, and that made them more dangerous than the average member of the Forces. He and Krillin kept their power levels as low as they could, with Goten paying special attention to the sky as they went. So far, he hadn’t spotted a single Saiyan fly by, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not.

Ginger Town was not unlike other places he’d been back east. It was still fairly large, but not really big enough to be considered a city, especially not since Frieza’s takeover. There was a gate leading into it, though a quick flash of some fake IDs was enough to get them by. Bulma was right to send them, he thought to himself as they drove down the main road. He could only imagine how much she and Vegeta would have stood out here.

“There should be a market somewhere around here,” Krillin said as they pulled up beside a curb. “We should probably keep an eye out for any other supplies, too. Bulma mentioned we’re running low on medipills and bandages.”

“Right,” Goten said. He hopped out of the car and took a moment to look around. There were quite a few people walking around, all chatting excitedly to themselves as they passed. His stomach rumbled loudly when the smell of cooking food hit his nose, and he looked down the street to see a line of food carts.

“Sure are a lot of people out today,” he said, staring longingly as one vendor scooped a big helping of steaming noodles into a bowl for a customer.

“Yeah, there are. Must be a regional holiday or something,” Krillin said, rubbing the back of his head as he came around the car to meet Goten. It didn’t take long for them to realize that most people seemed to be heading in a single direction, and even from where they were they could just make out shop signs down that way.

Krillin began walking ahead, offering a casual shrug as he did. “Guess that’s where we need to be,” he said. “Come on — I’m sure we have time to check everything out while we’re here!”

Goten’s stomach growled again, louder this time, and he put both hands over it in a futile effort to silence it. “Er...you think we have time for a bite to eat? I’m _starving_ ,” he asked, hungrily eyeing the food stalls as they got closer. Krillin chuckled to himself and nodded back at Goten.

“Just don’t spend too much,” he said, handing over a few zeni bills. “Remember we’re here to get supplies.” Goten nodded happily, then quickly grabbed the bills and hurried over to the first stall he laid eyes on. The man was older and gray, and his kind eyes widened as Goten practically crashed into the cart in his rush.

“S-sorry!” he blurted out. Funny, he hadn’t noticed just _how_ hungry he was until he was so close to food. “I’ll take—” he paused to count how much money he had versus how much everything was on the small menu “—five pork bowls, please!” It wasn’t much, but it would probably tide him over for a little while longer.

“ _Five_?” the old man said, looking over Goten’s shoulder as if expecting to see four other young men. He stared blankly at Goten for a moment before he shrugged and took the money, then set to work on the bowls. Goten watched every move like an eager hawk, his stomach practically roaring the entire time. He carefully balanced each bowl on top of one another and yelled out a ‘thank you’ as he rushed away to a nearby table where Krillin was waiting.

“One of those is for me, right?” Goten looked up at Krillin in surprise at his question, then let out a long, awkward laugh.

“Oh! Uh, of course!” He slid one of the bowls over and Krillin licked his lips before digging in. He wasn’t even all the way through with his by the time Goten had gotten to the third bowl, and he paused a moment to snicker.

“Man, you weren’t kidding,” he said. “But if Vegeta and Bulla are even half as hungry as you are, we should probably get a move on.” Goten gave him a quick thumbs up before stuffing more noodles into his mouth. Krillin finished off his bowl around the same time Goten ravaged through the ones he had left, and the pair returned the dishes back to the astonished old man.

The crowds got bigger as they went further down the road, and Goten had a hard time believing there was anything less than a local festival going on. He started noticing that everyone seemed to be wearing a particular combination of colors — purple and white — and it brought back memories of Frieza hovering over him, ready to end his life. He frowned grimly to himself but shook it away when he and Krillin spotted the Ozaki Market.

“Good old Ozaki,” Krillin said as they walked in. “Always happy to see stuff from before, you know?” Goten nodded, though if he was honest, he couldn’t really remember things like this. Stores were always just stores, and it was pretty rare for Goten to even go with his mother whenever they _could_ afford to go.

Still, he could understand what it meant. This store didn’t look like it had changed much from before, with the rows of shelves full of products lining every aisle. There weren’t too many people inside, but those that were also had on the same purple and white combination, and were talking excitedly among themselves.

“—really another rebel?”

“So soon after the first? That just seems—”

“—yeah I thought so, too!”

He couldn’t hear much from where they were, but he heard enough to catch his attention. His head swiveled round to catch sight of two girls and a boy huddled together, giggling to themselves while they grabbed handfuls of candy.

“Hurry, or we’ll miss it!”

“Okay, okay!”

“I wonder if Lord Frieza will be there this time?”

“He wasn’t at the last one, right? Ugh, so disappointing!”

Goten couldn’t take it anymore. His curiosity overwhelmed him and he leaned over to them and cleared his throat as politely as he could, causing them to look at him almost in unison. “Sorry, excuse me, but...what’s going on today?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. The thought flashed through his mind when they all collectively broke into looks of disbelief and confusion at his question and exchanged silent, skeptical glances to one another. “I-I’m not from here!” he said quickly, hoping beyond hope they wouldn’t find him too suspicious.

“Oh,” the girl with yellow hair said, casting a sideways glance to her partners before looking back at him. “It’s Execution Day! Another traitor’s been caught, so we’re holding a big celebration in Frieza’s honor.”

“How could you not know that?” the boy with copper hair said, sizing him up. “We’ve had one earlier this month, too…”

“Do you live under a rock?” the girl with purple hair added, mockingly. “What a total dweeb. Come on! We’re going to miss it if we keep wasting time here!”

And just like that, they left in a flurry of barely masked insults and cruel, horrific giggles at his expense. Goten had never met them before in his life, and didn’t really care about their opinions, and yet they still somehow managed to make him feel very, very stupid. He was left to stand there dumbfounded before he retreated back down to aisle to find Krillin. His face must have betrayed what had just happened because Krillin gave him a once over and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Did...did something happen?” he asked, somewhere between concerned and mildly confused.

“It’s, uh, I guess it’s Execution Day,” Goten said, not bothering to hide how disturbing he found the very thought. “I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.” The sudden sound of people cheering outside made his skin crawl. Krillin nodded in agreement and shoved a few more items in the basket he carried.

“I just have to grab a few things for Bulma,” Krillin said, turning to Goten. “I’ll meet you outside as soon as I’m done.”

“Okay, just...hurry, alright?” Goten said before making his way out. The second he stepped outside, he knew right away why everyone had cheered so suddenly — a massive screen had been raised at the end of the screen. On it was the talking face of a man with green skin and black hair, his deep voice somehow managing to overpower the general loudness of the crowds lining the streets.

“—was caught attempting to usurp Lord Frieza after the rest of its vile gang stole the princess, but Captain Almone assures us that she and her brave Guard will work tirelessly for her safe return. May this filthy creature’s death be a reminder to our enemies of Lord Frieza’s wrath.”

The screen cut away from his face and the noise from the people picked up again when the image returned to a platform of some kind. The back of the platform had two rows of people dressed so finely Goten thought they looked out of place for an event like _this_ , though there was a noticeably empty seat beside a blonde woman with a sorrowful expression on her face. On the platform was a kneeling figure with a black bag over its head and three guards on either side and the orange haired woman from Frieza’s ship standing in front of them.

“Citizens! Lord Frieza invites you to bear witness to his vengeance, and urges those responsible for the princess’ kidnapping to see what fate lies in store for them!”

With that, the black bag was ripped from the figure’s head and Goten felt like the ground fell out from beneath him. It was Seeda — her black hair was messy and a mix of dirt and blood discolored her features, but there was no mistaking her kind face or soft eyes. He could vaguely hear Krillin’s voice beside him, saying something he didn’t quite catch. His mind began racing and he found himself trying desperately to recall just how far away they were from West City. If he took off now, if he flew fast enough—

 _Don’t be foolish_ , he could hear her say even when she wasn’t there. The city was too far away. Even if by some miracle he did make it, there was an entire army there. He’d be too late, he’d get himself killed. All he could do was stand there uselessly and stare at the screen, his eyes locked on her too calm face as the six soldiers moved away from her. The crowd was roaring with their cheers, both on the streets around him and on the screen, and Goten could feel the heat of anger rising in his chest. But looking at her face...she was almost peaceful. She was entirely still where his panic and fury and sorrow were all fighting for dominance, making his muscles itch with a need to _move_ , to do _something_.

_No._

She was ready where he wasn’t. Her eyes closed slowly, as though she was preparing herself for sleep and nothing more.

_No!_

The flash of light filled the screen and Goten felt his stomach plummet to the ground. She was gone in an instant — the dust settled to reveal a small crater where she once was.

Goten wavered in place a moment, his vision blurring as it spun out of control. He’d seen death before. He’d carried the bodies of Forces’ victims to graves. He saw dead soldiers littering battlefields. But this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Seeda was there one moment and then the next, she was gone. They’d left nothing behind but a small crater from where she was once was. It was as if she had never existed at all. He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t grasp it. Seeda was there, and now she wasn’t.

_And it was all his fault for leaving her behind._

A cheering man with a big belly and red cheeks bumped into him, and Goten stumbled to a nearby trash can in time to throw up what seemed like everything he’d ever eaten in his life.

 

Goten still felt nauseous as they made their way back to the car, with Krillin leading the way at a pace that was almost too quick for the younger man. The celebrations were in full swing now, with people drinking and talking loudly among themselves while children played in the streets without a care in the world. Like someone dying was something worth celebrating. It sparked a rage inside Goten he hadn’t known still existed inside of him; the last time he’d felt it, he was a boy barely older than nine and he thought he’d lost his brother.

Gohan was back now, but there was no miraculous return for Seeda. He’d seen it with his own eyes and knew the sight would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“They’ll pay for what they’ve done,” Krillin was saying, though Goten could barely hear him over his ringing ears. “We’ll avenge her and everyone they’ve ever killed, Goten. Just you wait.”

 _Waiting’s what made this happen,_ Goten thought bitterly to himself. His hand had barely touched the door handle to the car when he felt it — the unmistakable rumble of power coming right for them. Both he and Krillin came back around the car in time to see four men in strange armor flying over the city, coming to a halt above where the main festivities were taking place.

“Saiyans!” Krillin said in a loud whisper to Goten. “Oh man, we better get out of here before we get caught up in this.”

“What are they doing?” Goten asked, watching them warily from where they were.

“Looking for a fight.” Krillin reluctantly started to move away, but Goten remained where he was, his gaze fixed on the four. Suddenly, the larger one raised his hand and a large ball of ki gathered in his palm.

“They’re going to kill all those people!”

“Goten—”

It was the screaming that got to him. A shameful part of him wanted to hate those people for celebrating the way they did over Seeda’s death, but...he knew this wasn’t right either. They didn’t deserve to be slaughtered like this, and when the big one released the ki blast down into the building below him, Goten moved automatically. He wasn’t going to sit by and watch anyone else die. Goten powered up as he shot into the sky to kick the big one squarely in the chest.

 _If it was a fight they wanted,_  he thought, _then a fight they were going to get._


	24. Everybody Lies

Bulla was standing in the ship, in front of the large windows that looked out into the vastness of space. Stars that were normally off in the distance were brighter than any she’d ever seen on earth, glimmering like the jewels in her hair did. The black was blacker than any other, deep and dark and beautiful and terrifying all at once. She’d been here many times before, had stared out into the emptiness more times than she could count. Often she’d come here to wonder what planets she would see burn next.

Footsteps behind her caught her attention, stole her eyes from the view before her. She felt her shoulders tense and her spine straightened automatically, but when the reflection in the window formed into Marron’s shape, the tension melted away in an instant.

“There you are,” Marron said softly.

“Here I am,” she replied.

Hands on her shoulders, a face in the crook of her neck — rare moments of touch when Lord Frieza was elsewhere. She ached to be held some days, for the confirmation that she was there and she was real. She wasn’t sure how to tell the difference sometimes, oddly enough. Being touched helped. It meant she was solid.

“Where’d you go?” Marron asked.

“I’m right here,” she said.

Marron loosened her hold, her head began to move away. Bulla leaned back in hopes of stopping her, of keeping those hands on her.

“Why’d you leave?” Marron asked, her tone hardening. “Where are you?”

“I told you, I’m right _here_ ,” she said, insistently now.

“No,” Marron said, and stepped away from her. Bulla didn’t move, her gaze locked onto the reflection. “You’re a liar.” She opened her mouth to speak and found she couldn’t breathe. The back of her neck felt tight, and her arms were too heavy to lift. Her eyes widened and she looked to Marron’s reflection — but it wasn’t Marron anymore. It was _him_ — the faceless man. Tall, imposing, and utterly terrifying.

“Liar,” he hissed. She was shot forward into the glass and pain shot through her. The glass shattered beneath and a thousand pieces cut into her skin. The emptiness she’d so often stared at was waiting for her, waiting to swallow her whole, and she drifted into the darkness.

 

Bulla’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment she wondered if she was still floating through space. But the solid ground beneath her told her otherwise, and she blinked away the sleep from her eyes. The sky above was clear and blue, a stark difference from the cold darkness from her dream. She brought a hand up to touch her forehead lightly as she gathered her thoughts, wiping away the sheen of sweat under her fingers. She’d come here to be alone ten minutes after Goten and Krillin had left, trying in vain to stave off the mild pain in her stomach. She had barely eaten since she’d boarded Frieza’s ship the day before, and it seemed like her... _the people_ she was with barely had enough to go around. At least she didn’t have much of an appetite anyway.

If there was a word to describe what she was feeling, she had no idea what it would be. Her bones hadn’t stopped aching since she left the training room, and though she could tell her forehead had more or less healed, there was still a dull throbbing around the wound. But no matter how much any part of her hurt, she wasn’t willing to wear that weakness so openly. She kept quiet and separated herself from the rest — at the moment, she was a considerable distance from the station, lying in the shade of an old truck that had been there for who knows how long by the road.

For all her efforts in keeping a distance from everyone else, her mother seemed determined to disregard them at every turn. She kept coming over to her, usually to try and care for her in some capacity, and the more she did it the more irate Bulla became. Her mother was either unwilling or unable to leave her alone, something that Bulla might have had more understanding for if she wasn’t already on edge. Between her and Krillin finding excuses to talk to her, and Goten offering her sad looks and awkward _attempts_ at conversation all morning, she’d escaped to the edge of the station to clear her mind. The nap had been somewhat unintentional, but it had at least kept everyone at bay.

Perhaps surprisingly, the only person who had yet to approach her was the Saiyan — Vegeta. What a name. Her mother had told her about him and who he was to her, which...well, frankly, she had a lot on her mind already. She’d opted to deal with it later and was grateful that he seemed to be just fine keeping his distance. That said, she hadn’t failed to notice that he never seemed too far away. Even now she glanced to one side to see he had found an area where she was in his line of sight, despite how out of the way she was. He was doing some sort of exercise routine she imagined was probably meant to keep himself busy more than anything else, considering how hungry everyone was.

If she was honest, then she might acknowledge how surreal everything seemed to her. Just a few days ago Yamcha had brought the man bleeding in her bedroom, near dead and barely functional. Bulla had agreed to help him not because of some subconscious loyalty to her family, but because he was useful to her. She’d wanted to use him as a weapon against Frieza and nothing more. Saving him was just a means to an end — never would she have imagined that he’d turn out to be her _father_. The thought was foreign to her, though no more foreign to her than the concept of a regular family. Then again…

She tilted her head and reached up to touch the purple jewels still woven in her hair, her fingers trailing down the length of her braid hanging off her shoulder. He was a Saiyan, something that she’d only known to be worthy of mockery and nothing more until recently. Frieza hated them with a passion she had never known him to possess, so much that he often took his frustrations out on her and, she knew to some extent, her brother. When she was a girl, she hated what she was because it displeased Lord Frieza so much. But now she was a woman, and she had seen what Saiyans could do. Now she knew why he hated them — he hated anything that was too strong.

“I could take those out for you if you want,” her mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Bulla closed her eyes against her irritation. “Might have to cut your hair a little bit, but I could do it easy enough.” Bulla remained quiet, and Bulma grew impatient quickly. “You know, you don’t _have_ to give me the silent treatment. I am your mother, after all.”

“Are you done? I’m very tired,” Bulla said with a sigh, though she hardly sounded tired at all. She could hear her mother fume for a moment, as if she struggled to find what to say without exploding. Bulla welcomed the anger, welcomed the opportunity to give her something to focus on, but when Bulma spoke again the fire had become embers.

“When you’re ready to talk,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I’m here for you, okay?”

Somehow, that irritated Bulla more than the potential argument they were so close to having. She turned her head to glare after her mother as she returned to the station, but managed to catch a glimpse of the man still lying unconscious on the counter. Her blood went cold in an instant as her breath caught in her throat, and she fought the shiver that traveled down her spine.

If she were to die at Frieza’s hand, she’d know it, expect it even. But that man was something else entirely. He was the vast emptiness of space trapped in a body, as uncaring and unfeeling as the void. Nothing frightened her more. Nothing ever would. Not even Frieza. As she pulled her gaze away, her eyes caught Vegeta’s staring her down curiously. Neither said a word, and Bulla was the first to look away.

 

It had been nearly three hours before Vegeta’s impatience got the better of him and he’d left in search of Goten and Krillin. She couldn’t quite explain it, couldn’t even find a single word for it, but his departure left her feeling more uneasy than she had felt before. Bulla forced herself to move closer to the station, to keep watch on the man. Her mother was sitting inside with her back to him, hunched over a makeshift workstation as she focused on...well, whatever it was she was doing. Bulla didn’t know, and she wasn’t especially interested either. All she cared about was watching _him_. She didn’t know what she’d do if he woke up — but she would face him all the same. If he tried to take her back, or he tried to kill her for her betrayal, she would be ready.

So focused on his unsteady breathing, the way his chest rose and fell in sharp intervals, that she didn’t notice how much time had passed before the sounds of approach drew her attention away. She broke her focus long enough to glance back over her shoulder, her eyebrows raising slightly at the sight. Both Krillin and Goten were worse for the wear, looking very much like they had been in some kind of fight, but at the very least neither looked like they were about to collapse anytime soon.

For his part, Vegeta looked more or less fine — a few scrapes here and there that hardly seemed like much at all to him. If anything, he looked far more annoyed than anything else as he stormed by her and into the station with a large bag, which he dropped beside Bulma. Krillin followed Vegeta but paused at the door so that he could turn back to Bulla.

“Oh, hey,” he said, digging into his pocket with one hand and retrieving a chocolate bar. “I almost forgot — here ya go!” He dropped it into her open hand and went inside, leaving her with a half-melted candy bar. Bulma moved to shutter the windows, offering Bulla an apologetic but cheerful smile before she blocked the young woman from seeing what was happening inside. Bulla scowled at the slight, but she knew better than to simply ignore it and walk in, even if that's what she wanted to do right then.

She looked back to see Goten working to unpack the food they’d gathered. After taking one last glance at the station and deciding they were speaking far too quietly to be of use to her, she walked over to where he was. He seemed a far easier target in the moment.

“What happened?” she asked, her tone even so as to not betray her intentions. He paused in his unpacking and glanced back up at her, then shook his head and continued his work.

“I...I saw…” he hesitated, then cleared his throat and spoke again. “We ran into some Saiyans. They attacked Ginger Town,” he said. “They were hurting people and...we stopped them.” He was holding something back, something that seemed important. She tilted her head at him, taking in the cuts and bruises he’d obtained. All to save people in a dinky little place like Ginger Town. She wasn’t sure if she admired the effort, or thought it a waste of time. Probably a mix of both, honestly.

She crouched down beside him and leaned closer so that she could look inside the bag. His movements slowed slightly when she did, and she could tell he was watching her from the corner of his eye. “Did something else happen?” she said, pressing a little further. His secrecy was like blood in the water to her curiosity, and she continued her act as she reached into the bag to grab a small packet of rice balls and examine them. His silence caused her to look his way, and she found that his expression had softened considerably from before, so much that it took her aback.

“I, uh...I lost a friend. A really close friend,” he said, his voice low and quiet. But before she could wrap her head around the emotion his words held, he shook his head and withdrew a medium sized box, which he offered out to her. “I think these are ready to eat right away. They might be a little cold by now, though.”

She took it from him and held it gingerly as he stood up and moved away from her. Bulla’s eyes stayed on his back while he walked away, and she found herself feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he’d given her the answers she was looking for so she was done with him; on the other, she found herself almost pitying him. Whoever he’d lost, it certainly seemed like it affected him deeply. She was largely unfamiliar with the feeling, of the sympathy she had for him, so for a long moment, she did nothing. She’d run out of words both in her throat and her mind.

Everything was quiet then. Bulma, Vegeta, and Krillin exited the station a few minutes later, and they all sat and ate in relative silence, with only her mother offering much in the way of attempted conversation. At one point, Goten rejoined them and Krillin sat with him. The two spoke in hushed voices about someone named Seeda, and Bulla gathered that was who had been lost. Vegeta left their company to go train elsewhere, something he seemed to do a lot of. Right when Bulla thought the peace would continue, her mother approached her again. Not for the first time was she almost immediately annoyed, though she couldn’t necessarily say why her mother’s presence irritated her so much.

“Feel better now that you’ve eaten?” Bulma said, too cheerfully. “Hopefully we can find some time for a good shower soon. I bet that would help a lot too, right?” Bulla said nothing and silently willed her mother to just give up. Her bones were aching again just sitting so close to her. Of all the things she wanted to do right now, _talking_ was last on her list. But she’d be a fool if she actually thought that would deter Bulma Briefs, so her expectations were low.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, Bulla, and I just want you to know that I—”

“Tell me more about him,” Bulla interrupted her mother, nodding her head in Vegeta’s direction as he trained. If she was going to talk, Bulla figured it might as well be of use to her. Bulma paused, perhaps surprised by the sudden inquiry, and smiled wide. It was clear that she thought the sudden interest probably came from an innocent curiosity. Maybe in some small, insignificant way, it might have been, but the full truth was far less wholesome. He could be both her father and still a means to an end.

“Well...you know he’s a Saiyan already,” Bulma began, delighted. “He’s _very_ strong, and he’s twice as proud. Sometimes he pushes himself too far, and he doesn’t like being told what to do. Actually, you remind me a little of him from when he was younger. Goodness knows you’re both so stubborn!” She said the last bit pointedly, which Bulla chose to ignore. “And he cares, you know? He wouldn’t say it out loud, but...you kids are everything to us.”

But if she said anything more, Bulla didn’t catch it. The feeling of a hand touching just beneath her neck sent a shock through her. Bulla felt herself jerk forward and twist around to slap her mother’s hand harshly, a sharp gasp escaping from her mouth as she did. The brief touch made her feel like she was back on the ship, staring out into the void with only a sheet of glass between her and oblivion. It took her a beat too long to realize that _wasn’t_ the case. Bulma let out a surprised yelp and held her hand, staring bewilderingly at the younger woman. Bulla’s first instinct was to yell at her mother, to demand an answer for why she tried to lay hands on her, but Bulma reacted first.

“Oh, Bulla,” she said, pity clear in her voice. “I’m so sorry — I-I forgot.” The pity made it worse. So much worse, and Bulla felt her cheeks turning red at her own humiliation and fear. 

“ _Stop_ , mother,” Bulla hissed angrily. She could feel eyes on her as Goten, Krillin, and even Vegeta had looked their way. It took a few deep breaths to calm herself enough to walk away, her heart pounding in her chest so hard it almost hurt. She moved to the other side of the building and stopped to sit on an old stack of tires, her eyes instinctively going to the station as though she expected the man inside to burst out. A shudder went through her at the thought.

The sound of footsteps from behind didn’t surprise her, and she fought to contain her irritation. “Not now,” she snapped without looking.

“Bulla,” a man’s voice said curtly. Bulla turned to find Vegeta standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and a stern look on his face. She clicked her tongue before turning away again, though she watched him from the corner of her eye when he walked closer. “Your mother says those things on your head weaken you.” She said nothing, and he scoffed. “Tch. Frieza was always a pathetic coward.” The disdain in his voice was so palpable she could almost taste the hatred in the air, though it didn’t distract from his meaning.

“I doubt he ever had anything to fear from me,” she said dryly.

“Hmph. Then why would he bother?” he said. She didn’t have an answer, so again she said nothing. As well as she might have known Frieza, there were still some things she didn't know. All that had been said to her about the jewels was that it was simply his will; her body was his to control, after all. Bulla briefly considered a joking answer, but considering their relationship, she doubted Vegeta would have appreciated the explicit nature.

“You’ve sulked enough. Come here,” he said. She didn’t move, instead responding with a harsh look which, again, did nothing to him. His own expression was just as hard. “If you won’t let your mother remove those things, then you should at least know how to defend yourself competently. Unless you’d rather spend the rest of your life being _weak_.”

It was odd, being offered something you never knew you wanted so badly. For so much of her life she had fantasized about ways to get away from Frieza, to fight back and win. When she was under him, she imagined what it would be like to kick him away, and her bones would rattle at the thought of disobeying Frieza so blatantly. Even now she ached, but she wouldn’t run from it. If she played her cards right, then she might not need anyone else to do her work for her.

 

For two and a half hours she tried to strike him, tried to follow his instructions. Her arms and legs went weak from the effort, but he refused to let her quit. She began to sweat while he remained unfazed, and her pride was wounded by his indifference. He told her what to do and when she didn’t listen, he would fly above her and bark his orders again until she complied. Before long, she nearly hated him for it.

“ _Ow_!” she yelled when she stumbled over her own feet, confused by his conflicting instructions. In truth, she was more embarrassed than hurt. “You did that on purpose,” she sniped at him as she stood, brushing her bare knees off. She’d likely have bruises there in a few hours.

“Of course I did! Your enemies will certainly move quicker than that,” he said with a dismissive scoff. “And _whining_ won’t stop them.”

She bit down on her tongue and glowered up at him. “I’m done.”

“No, you’re not,” he answered plainly.

“I’m _tired_ ,” she said defiantly. “You’re not even teaching me anything.”

He landed in front of her, his arms still crossed over his chest. “You’re just not paying attention.” His words made her glare deepen and she turned to walk away. “Bulla,” Vegeta warned, but she ignored him. Suddenly, she felt a hand wrap tightly around her arm from behind and she froze in place automatically. Her arm was brought back behind her and held there. Her mind went blank, barely registering that it was Vegeta speaking to her again.

“Don’t let yourself be so weak — you have the blood of a Saiyan, so act like one. Use your other arm,” he said, his tone anything but gentle. “Your elbow. Aim left, and be fast.” But she couldn’t; her body refused to move, and he nudged her lightly, causing her to stumble a couple of steps forward, but he still held onto her. “Push through it. Giving up isn’t an option.”

It took her a moment. It took her too many moments, she knew, because he was right. If this had been real; if it had been Frieza and not Vegeta…

She abruptly jerked her elbow back, hitting into the hard muscle behind her with as much strength as she could muster. It wasn’t a lot, but he released her instantly, letting her stumble forward and fall to her knees. Her heart was pounding again and her limbs felt like jelly, but there was something else there too — a hint of pride bloomed in her chest. She remained there to catch her breath, and he stood nearby too, quiet until she began to stand.

“We’ll train again tomorrow,” he said. But he stopped when she stopped, and she was dimly aware of how he turned to follow her gaze. From where she was standing, her eyes had trailed upward and landed on the clear image of the unconscious man’s still form lying on the counter inside the station through the window. His breathing had become steady now, his chest rose and fell easily. Too easily. Whatever pride she had in her meager victory disappeared the instant she saw him  and was replaced by a cold dread.

“You should have let him die,” she said, her shaking voice just above a whisper. Bulla tore her eyes away from the man to stare at Vegeta, resentment and anger clear in her face. “You should have left him wherever you found him.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his brow furrowed in irritated confusion and she shook her head.

“Because if he wakes up, he’ll kill you all.” _And take me back._

Vegeta shot a glance back at the man as though deciding whether or not to believe her. Then he took a step toward her, close enough so that she could hear his voice as it dipped low and quiet. “Explain.”


	25. Graceless

“You’re distracted,” Vegeta said irritably. “You’re useless to me if you’re too distracted to train _properly_.”

“Sorry,” Goten mumbled as he picked himself back up. His chest hurt from that last kick, and he brought a hand up to rub the spot. “I’ll do better this time, I promise.” It was a hollow promise and they both knew it; Vegeta offered only a frustrated growl in response and Goten felt his shoulders sag. He did his best to smile as unawkwardly as possible. “Or maybe we should...call it a day?”

Vegeta let out an angry scoff. “Go on then, but don’t come crying to me when you’re too weak to fight for yourself!”

Goten supposed that was the best possible outcome he could have asked for. As much as Vegeta talked a big talk, Goten knew that when it came down to it, it was his way of showing he cared. At least, that was what Bulma liked to assure him. He didn’t train just anyone, she’d told him one night as they watched Vegeta showing Bulla how to punch without hurting herself. He only trained people he cared about, and Goten felt a twist of guilt as he made his way back to the campsite, disappointed with himself for throwing in the towel so early.

Then again, guilt was all he seemed to feel anymore. He tried not to, he really did, but his mind wouldn’t let him forget the look on Seeda’s face as she was consumed by light. She seemed so at peace, so ready for what was coming, and yet he was struggling just coming to terms that it had happened at all. It left him feeling like a helpless child. He found himself daydreaming about finding the Dragon Balls after all, of wishing her back and apologizing for leaving her behind. He’d wish back her husband and son too, just so he could make it up to her and she could be happy. The thought made him heartsick and, as Vegeta had pointed out, pretty damn useless. Krillin took time out of almost every day to remind him that it wasn’t his fault and that he needed to focus on what they needed to get done. It was far easier said than done, as it turns out.

It had been nearly a week since they’d left the abandoned gas station, and it seemed like they were wandering aimlessly. Bulma had fixed up an old radio so they could keep tabs on everything, and they learned that the Saiyans were wreaking havoc on various villages and towns. Ginger Town had been destroyed after all, and considering how close they were to it, they’d decided it was best to move on. After some digging, Krillin had managed to find an old capsule camper that Bulma took no time in fixing up, and they loaded as much as they could — and the still unconscious Gohan — into it.

Vegeta had loudly argued against riding inside, insisting he’d rather guard them by flying ahead, but he’d been pretty handily shouted down by his wife. The argument had been just as explosive as Goten remembered from when he was a kid, and ended with half a compromise: Vegeta would fly ahead only at night, and Bulma would do the majority of the driving, and that was how it worked from there on. Along the way, he either flew beside them or stubbornly stood on top of the vehicle.

Now they were stopped somewhere south of Parsley City, near the mountains. It was a quiet spot, nice and hidden away by trees and a nearby waterfall. It made Goten think of home, and he was able to find at least some comfort in that, even if it did make him nostalgic for simpler times. When he wasn’t training, or trying to train, with Vegeta he had taken it upon himself to hunt and fish.

The inside of the camper was cramped, and Goten found himself growing restless pretty quick every time he went inside, unless he went in to sleep or check on Gohan. He’d sit there for hours talking to his brother, telling him the things he missed, the guilt he carried, the worry he had for their mom. It seemed silly, talking to someone who couldn’t respond, but it always made him feel a little better. Typically, it was just him, Krillin or Bulma doing so, though today as he stepped through the door he was surprised to see someone else sitting on the bench across from Gohan. It was Bulla — even with her back was to him, there was no mistake. Her waist length hair was out of its usual braid and fell in messy waves. When he’d first found her on Frieza’s ship, her hair had been dyed white. Now it was faded into a muted lavender with hints of blue near her roots. When she turned to glance at him from over her shoulder, he saw the same vaguely irritated eyes she usually greeted him with.

“Oh, uh...hi,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be training?” she asked.

“Er, yeah — I was, I mean,” he stammered before offering a half-shrug. “I wasn’t much good to him today.”

She regarded him for a moment before turning away. “Vegeta’s such a hardass.”

Goten let out a snort of laughter. “Tell me about it!” He moved to sit beside her, noticing the way she shifted away from him and he made sure to keep space between them. He’d picked up how much she disliked being too close to anyone just by watching the way she reacted with everyone else. “How’s your training going?”

“If you could call it that,” she said flatly and gave a lazy shrug. “I guess it’s fine.”

“You’ll get it,” Goten said, nodding to her encouragingly. “Just takes a little time, especially if you’ve never trained before.”

Bulla said nothing, and he tried not to dwell on the awkward silence that fell between them. She was as expressionless as she was quiet, and if he thought Vegeta was difficult to read sometimes, then his daughter was downright impossible. She always seemed so distracted and worked pretty hard to come off as bored by everything. Every now and again, though, Goten would catch a glimpse of her when she thought no one was looking and he’d see fearful glances and deep frowns.

“So, um...why are you here?” he asked. “Not that there’s anything wrong with you being here. It’s just that you seemed like you didn’t really—”

“I wanted a place to think,” she said, mercifully interrupting him. “I didn’t feel like training and I didn’t feel like talking, so I came here.” Bulla leaned back against the cushion behind her and brought her legs up onto the bench, curling herself up comfortably. Goten felt there was probably more that she wasn’t saying but she wasn’t sharing. “Why are _you_ here?”

“He’s my brother,” Goten said, maybe a bit too defensively from the look she gave him. “Sorry, I just...I thought he was gone for so long.” Part of him knew he was still raw from Seeda’s death, and that having his brother so close by was both a blessing and a curse given how the man had yet to open his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to her — he knew she hadn’t known Vegeta very well before his “death,” but surely some part of her would understand what he meant. To his relief, she nodded.

The second silence that settled between them wasn’t as strange or awkward. Rather, it felt comfortable, like they both agreed to leave the other to their own thoughts. Goten focused on Gohan, his mind wandering to thoughts of what he’d do when his brother woke up, if he _ever_ did. Bulma insisted there was nothing wrong, that he simply had a lot of healing to do, but Goten had been hurt pretty bad before too and hadn’t needed _this_ much time. And while the medipills weren’t exactly miracle workers like senzu beans, they were effective enough to have healed him enough by now. So why wouldn’t he wake up?

“Were you close?” Bulla’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and he turned to look at her, and quickly realized that she must have been watching him. Her eyes lacked the hardness he’d come to know them for, replaced instead by curiosity.

“Oh yeah! Really close. He was like my best friend,” he said. “He taught me everything I knew when I was a kid, before my dad came back.”

“Came back?”

“Oh, that’s a...that’s a long story,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. She didn’t press him to elaborate, instead brought a hand up to toy with the ends of her hair.

“Your dad’s...Goku, right?” she asked. It came off like an uncertain question, but there was something in her tone that seemed too even, too calculated. Goten wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Did Bulma tell you about him?”

“You saw him fight Frieza?” she continued, ignoring his question.

“Well, sort of,” he said. “I had to get Vegeta out of there, so I didn’t really see too much.”

“ _You_ fought Frieza. So did Vegeta. You both lost,” she said, tilting her head slightly but never once removing her gaze from his face. “Do you really think Goku could defeat him?”

Goten had never been the best at reading people and, again, Bulla was _really_ difficult to figure out most of the time. But right now, she was like an open book — there was hunger in her eyes, the kind that made him a little uneasy, the kind he imagined a starving shark would have once it caught the smell of blood. She was looking for an answer, a specific answer, and was so intense that for a moment, Goten couldn’t say anything.

“Uh, well…” he began after a lengthy pause. “He’s done it before...I don’t see why he wouldn’t have been able to again.”

“Frieza’s very powerful. More powerful than anyone I’ve ever known,” she said, matter-of-factly, almost admiringly. “I know what he’s capable of. I’ve seen him destroy entire worlds with just his fingertip. Do you really think Goku could stop him?”

He decided he didn’t like this conversation very much. It might have been alright if not for the way she was staring him down, willing him to break under her blue eyes. It was as if she _wanted_ him to tell her she was right, that Frieza was unstoppable. But he wasn’t as breakable as she seemed to think he was, and he knew Frieza could be stopped, so he nodded defiantly.

“My dad is stronger,” he said with certainty. “Frieza might be pretty tough, but he’s definitely no match for my dad.”

He had no way of knowing if that was the answer she wanted. The way she continued to scrutinize him in silence had him wondering if she was trying to decide whether or not to believe him. Finally, she looked away from him, and he followed her gaze back to Gohan’s still form.

“What about him?” she asked. “How strong do you think he is?”

Goten didn’t look away from his brother as he considered her question, and the more he thought about it the more he felt the warm feeling of hope rising in his chest. He smiled fondly to himself at the feeling. “Definitely stronger than Frieza,” he said. “Maybe even stronger than dad, if he trains enough.”

The abruptness in the way she stood from the bench and left the camper was enough to tear him from his thoughts, and he was stunned as the door slammed behind her. He blinked a few times, confused and a little taken aback. It was odd to him how she seemed to hate Gohan so much, and Goten genuinely didn’t know what to think of it. But why? Why would she hate someone she couldn’t possibly know?

When he exited a half hour later, she had joined Vegeta off in the distance, and the two seemed to be working on defensive guards. He watched them for a moment until she turned and their eyes met. But rather than the irritation, or curiosity, or even the mild boredom that she’d regarded him with before, he found an intensity he wasn’t prepared for. A coldness passed through him, and he turned away quickly.

 

Another week had passed, and he’d forced himself to forget about Bulla’s inexplicable resentment of him. She had gone back to normal — well, as normal as she seemed capable of being — by the end of the following day, and they’d made themselves busy with planning. They’d moved again, heading further east toward Fire Mountain at Bulma’s instruction, until the forest thinned and they reached the outskirts of the Diablo Desert. It was hot and miserable here, but they’d stopped anyway when Bulma insisted she needed more time for unspecified reasons.

It didn’t escape Goten how strange Bulma began acting on the second day they were in the desert. She kept vanishing into a small tent, coming out only to eat or, if she remembered to, sleep. She’d offer Goten a quick greeting every time she passed by, but she always seemed distracted by something. Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of her rushing into the camper, but every time he thought to go after her, Krillin or Vegeta would abruptly call him away. Whatever she was doing every time she went to see Gohan, it was like no one wanted him to know. And even now, when he saw an opening to follow after her, he was foiled at the last second.

“Boy! Get over here!” Vegeta called to him just as his hand touched the door. He paused there and briefly considered pretending to have not heard him. It was no use. “ _Now!_ ” Goten released the handle and mentally promised himself to find out what she was doing in there _after_ he was done training. But as he turned toward Vegeta, he caught sight of Bulla standing a few feet behind the man, her arms folded neatly under her chest.

“Spar with Bulla,” the Saiyan prince said, causing Goten to come to a halt mid-step.

“Huh?” he started, unable to hide his confusion. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Vegeta snorted. Bulla remained quiet. “I just mean — well, I’ve had more training than she has. It’s not really fair…”

“Did _you_ learn from sitting around watching?” Vegeta said. “I didn’t think so. Now quit complaining! Spar until one of you hits the ground.”

Goten looked at Bulla helplessly and rubbed at the back of his head, but she didn’t seem fazed by the proposal. As usual, her face was masked by indifference, though there was a glint to her eyes he hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t want to do this. He knew it wasn’t fair to her, but he also knew better than to argue with Vegeta, and so he gave a defeated sigh and nodded reluctantly. He stepped forward and brought his hands up, readying himself. Bulla met his stance, if not a little less certain of her movements. Vegeta walked away from the pair to stand off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest as he settled into a focused expression.

“Listen, if you wanna stop at any point—” he began, but she cut him off when she suddenly shot forward at him. He raised his hands in time to block her fist, but her other hand dropped down to strike him in his side. It stung, but she clearly didn’t know how to use her strength. He grabbed hold of the hand he’d blocked and used it to swing her around, attempting to throw her to the ground. Instead, she hooked her foot around the back of his knee and pulled him with her, and he stumbled forward. His grip loosened just slightly, but it was enough for her to wrench her arm away and elbow him in the cheek. _That one_ hurt a bit.

Emboldened by her enthusiasm for the fight, they went back and forth like that together for a few minutes. She was picking up quicker than he expected, truth be told, but he knew that she couldn’t keep it up for long. He needed to end it, so he dropped down to sweep her legs out from under her, but she caught herself with her hands and bounced right back up. She was slow, however, and he swung his fist into her stomach when she stood and turned to face him again — perhaps too sharply, considering the pained cry she let out as she stumbled backwards, her arms hugging her middle. The sound she made was so sharp and pitiful that he instantly regretted hitting her in the first place.

“Oh, man! Are you okay!?” he said, immediately dropping his guard and rushing to help her. But the second he got within her reach, whatever pain she had apparently felt seemed to disappear, and she lashed out with a brutal strike to his throat. It knocked both words and wind right out of him, and his hands went for his neck, leaving his middle open to a hard kick. His backside barely hit the ground when he realized Vegeta was _laughing_ at him.

“Ha! Let that be a reminder to never underestimate your opponent!” Vegeta boasted. The pride in his voice was salt on the wound, and Goten wanted to remind him that it was a cheap trick, that if she had been fighting fairly he would have won. But his throat hurt and his face felt hot from embarrassment.

A hand appeared in front of his face, and he looked up to see Bulla looking down at him. He hesitated before he took her hand, and she pulled him to his feet easily enough. He hadn’t fully realized how small she was before — Bulla was a petite woman, shorter than any woman he knew; she barely came up to his chest, and her tiny frame betrayed the Saiyan strength she clearly possessed. The bruise he was sure to have on his neck later was proof of that.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly. The appreciation in her voice sounded genuine and it surprised him, if only because it was probably the first time he’d ever heard her say it in the weeks they’d been traveling together. Goten grinned broadly, and she returned it with a wry smile. He didn’t even realize he’d held onto her hand a moment too long until Vegeta spoke again.

“I expect you both to do better next time,” he said, but before he could say anything else, he stopped short. Goten didn’t have to wonder why — he felt it too. A rush of power, and for a moment he was confused. In an instant, a crash rang out and both Vegeta and Goten turned to the camper to see the top was smoking from the explosion. Vegeta moved so quickly that Goten only saw a blur. Smoke was billowing from the vehicle, and Goten stepped in front of Bulla instinctively. A few seconds later, Vegeta emerged from the smoke, carrying a coughing Bulma with one arm and hovering above, glaring down at the camper. Krillin soon followed but landed near Goten, who hurried to his side.

“What happened?!” he said, urgently. His mind flooded with anxiety when he caught sight of orange flames peeking out from the smoke. One of Bulma’s experiments gone wrong? But then, why would she be experimenting on anything in  _there_ of all places? “Gohan’s still in there!” He moved toward it, but Krillin reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt to stop him.

“No! Goten, h-he’s—” Krillin started, but his coughing kept him from finishing.

They needn’t wait long to find out. Another figure appeared from the smoke and flame. It was Gohan, no doubt about it. His eyes were fixated on Vegeta and Bulma in a way that Goten couldn’t describe, but seeing him awake still sent a wave of relief wash over him. The feeling quickly swept aside and replaced by a sense of dread. Like something was... _wrong_. Very, very wrong. And he had no idea what it was.

“Gohan!” he yelled out. But his brother made no movement toward him, gave him no acknowledgment. His focus seemed entirely on Vegeta, and the Saiyan prince returned his hardened stare in kind even as he held Bulma against him. Goten took a step forward, but a hand wrapped around his wrist tightly and he whipped his head around to see Bulla. She looked terrified, her eyes were wide with fear, and her fingers pressed into his skin so hard that it hurt.

“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to reassure her. “It’s just Gohan!” His assurance did nothing; she shook her head stiffly and stepped closer to him, almost _cowering_ behind him. He may not have known her all that well, but he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t quick to frighten. But _why_? It made no sense. He turned back to look at Gohan, and watched in confusion as his brother raised his hand in Vegeta’s direction.

The Saiyan growled angrily and turned to shield Bulma, blocking the ki blast with one side of his body. He grunted and called out to Krillin before tossing Bulma to the other man, just in time to knock aside another incoming blast. Gohan disappeared and reappeared behind Vegeta, and the pair were quickly engaged in a vicious fight. They traded blows so rapidly that Goten could hardly keep up. It didn’t help matters that he was utterly and totally bewildered by what he was seeing. _What the hell was going on?_

“Stop! Gohan!” he yelled again, and was still ignored. Bulla’s fingers were bruising his skin from how firmly she was holding onto him and he could feel her trembling — it was the only thing keeping him there, and he grit his teeth in frustration. “ _Gohan!_ ”

Finally, he saw it — a brief flash of hesitation in Gohan’s movements as his head turned to look Goten’s way. Vegeta took advantage of the distraction and brought his fist down against the side of Gohan’s head hard, and Goten yelled out in shock and anger. But something changed, he could tell. Gohan staggered in the air holding the side of his head, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. For a moment, no one did anything; Vegeta watched him warily, and Goten found he was speechless. All he wanted to do was go to his brother, welcome him back, give him a hug and call him a jerk for being gone so long. He didn’t have time to do any of that — Gohan looked at him with wild eyes and held his gaze for a moment before abruptly turning away from them all and taking off.

“W-wait!” Goten said, yanking his wrist free from Bulla’s grasp.

“Goten, _don’t!_ ” she yelled, reaching for him again. But he was faster than she was, and he shot off after his brother, tearing through the air as fast he could. He caught up to Gohan only a few seconds later, flying just a few feet behind him.

“Gohan!” he called. Gohan turned his head slightly to look back at him, his eyes harder than Goten had ever seen them before. Suddenly he vanished, his energy signature going along with him. Goten came to a halt in the air, looking around wildly before a sharp pain struck him in the back of the head from behind, sending him down to the ground below. The move seemed so familiar, almost like...like...

_The man on Frieza’s ship._

_The one who separated him from Seeda._

_The one who killed 17._

_No_ , he begged his mind. _Anything but that._ He raised his head up to look at Gohan as the realization settled in. There was no escaping it — everything was clearer to him now than before. The reason everyone was behaving so strangely around Gohan, why no one would tell him anything...the truth was right there. He didn’t want it.

His brother stared at him with an unwavering gaze, then glanced up at the approaching Saiyan before returning his attention to Goten.

“Stay away from me,” he said, his voice rougher than Goten ever remembered it being. “I won’t warn you again, Goten.”

And with that, he was gone, vanished again and Goten couldn’t feel his energy anymore. By the time Vegeta was at his side, Goten felt numb. He didn’t even hear what the other man had said, even when Vegeta proceeded to yell at him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, mostly to himself. For a long moment, he didn’t move from where he was. He wrestled with himself inwardly; he was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness as he struggled with his thoughts.

Eventually he followed Vegeta back to camp, and set about helping him and Krillin with the cleanup. Everyone was quiet while they worked; the sun went down not long after they finished and they all went off to their bedrolls now moved outside from the wreckage of the camper.

Goten was the last to finish up, and paused as he settled down into the covers, he glanced over to see Bulla sitting up and staring expressionless at the dying campfire. He remembered the fear in her face just hours ago, and found himself wondering if Seeda had felt the same way when he left her on the ship, chasing the ghost of his brother.

He would do better, he promised himself as he drifted off.


	26. Best of a Bad Situation

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

It was the only word she thought over and over as she dug through the pile of wreckage that was once the interior of a perfectly good camper. It had been three days since Gohan woke up, but her failure continued to twist around inside of her. Sure, she knew she herself wasn’t actually stupid — but she had _done something_  very, very stupid and that was almost worse. She should have been more careful, shouldn’t have been so _eager_ that it blinded her from common sense. Bulma Briefs was a goddamn genius and she _still_ managed to fail so spectacularly at something so incredibly important. It was a deep wound to her pride, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Krillin had brought the mask to her after the fight between Goku and Frieza — it was the only thing that looked like it might be important. He wasn’t wrong, and though he brought it back in multiple pieces, it really didn’t take much for her to figure out how to put it back together. She wished she could claim ignorance on what it was, but the truth was she recognized it from her earlier years in Frieza’s service.

It was a prototype at the time, created by a man who went missing shortly after its creation. A ‘reprogramming tool,’ like a miniaturized version of the training rooms, meant to be used on dissenters and anyone who might have delusions of grandeur. But it had been unreliable and extended use had horrific side-effects; the earliest test subjects had bled to death from their noses, ears, and eyes. Bulma distinctly recalled the day the project had been scrapped, remembered them carrying the body of the young woman they’d tested it on out of the building to be disposed of.

Knowing that someone had figured it out and even managed to use it on Gohan of all people made her sick. The young man had always been so sweet, so kind-hearted and strong that she had a hard time believing anything, even this mask, could change that. Yet the way Bulla had spoken about him, the hatred and fear in her voice, was enough to break Bulma’s heart. And infuriate her.

“He doesn’t have a name. He’s an executioner— _Frieza’s_ executioner,” Bulla snapped after she became annoyed with Bulma’s insistence on using his name. ‘The faceless man’ just didn’t sound right to her, not when they were talking about _Gohan_. But Bulla’s arms crossed in a way that seemed more like she was hugging herself and she doubled down.

“He was never given a name because he doesn’t need one. He just kills whatever Frieza tells him to, without any hesitation, no matter who it is. What do you think happened to Basil Town? Or Purple City? Frieza was off-world when they were destroyed. Who else do you think has that kind of power?” Bulma knew of the uprisings all too well — the media had circulated images of the destroyed cities for weeks, boasting Frieza’s immense power and his ability to crush any and all rebellions. Her stomach turned at the thought of it actually being Gohan behind the death and destruction as her mind flashed through those images. 

Something in her daughter’s voice had sharpened like a knife as she continued. “ _He_ was always there, whenever Frieza wanted me,” Bulma’s blood turned to ice, and she could see the way Vegeta’s entire body tensed. Bulla either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Sometimes he took me to Frieza himself if I tried to fight back. He never did anything to stop it, not once. Whoever or whatever he was when you knew him, he’s not that anymore.” She turned back to look at Vegeta, almost pleadingly. ”You should just kill him, put him down before he—”

“No, Bulla,” Bulma said firmly, though it hurt to do so. Her daughter’s voice was so thick with pain and desperation that it was almost enough to convince Bulma. Almost. “It wasn’t him, none of that was. Trust me, sweetheart — I know it hurts. I’m so sorry, but _Frieza_ did this and we’re going to make sure it’ll never happen again, you’ll see. Gohan...he’s a good man. If it weren’t for Frieza, he never would have done those things. He wouldn’t have let you go through any of that. Please, Bulla...I promise nothing like that will _ever_ happen to you again.”

But it was clear her daughter didn’t believe her, and the rift between them only widened as she stormed out of the tent in a fury. Vegeta stayed with Bulma, let her cry into his chest before she gathered herself up and went right back to work. Her heart ached for her daughter, for the horror she’d failed to protect her from. Bulla could hate her all she wanted, and it would hurt like hell, but she refused to give up on Gohan. _It wasn’t Gohan’s fault,_ she told herself time and time again. 

After some fiddling around, she’d managed to piece the mask back together and began her own reprogramming. She wiped previous protocols clean and spent a week adjusting the directives. With some luck, she hoped that it would be enough to reverse whatever damage it had inflicted on Gohan. And if they managed to get Trunks back...

One stupid mistake, one dumb miscalculation, and she’d ruined everything. They had one chance to fix Gohan’s mind, and she’d squandered it because she was too soft. If she’d just waited a few more hours, if she hadn’t taken off the mask before it was actually finished, he’d be there with them and he’d be okay again. But he’d asked for his father, and he sounded so pathetic, so vulnerable that her heart bled for him. Surely Frieza’s grip on him had loosened enough — maybe it was never that strong to begin with. So she’d taken off the mask and realized her mistake too late.

It was a small wonder that he hadn’t actually succeeded in killing her. The first ki blast had flown right by her head and destroyed the computer she’d dragged inside. When he raised his hand again, he was aiming straight at her and for a moment she truly thought it was the end. Even Vegeta wouldn’t be able to save her in time. Suddenly, Krillin appeared and yelled something from behind Gohan, and his hand changed direction last second, blasting the roof of the camper instead and the next thing she knew she was hovering above black smoke and flames. Her arms instinctively went around Vegeta’s neck for support, and she watched in horror as Gohan appeared before them. Gone was the little boy crying for his father — all she saw were cold, dead eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

That was three days ago, and Bulma had yet to shake off the disappointment she had in herself. Everyone was a little shaken by what happened — although Vegeta just seemed more restless somehow. To him, the whole thing had been a wasted effort, and Gohan’s abrupt departure only served to prove that. Bulma was sure some of his frustration came from what Bulla had told them, and while she also felt that same sense of betrayal, she held stubbornly to the knowledge that at the end of the day, Frieza was at fault. Gohan would _never_ have willingly dragged their daughter to Frieza or stand by and do nothing while he...while he...

She couldn’t even finish the thought without tears stinging her eyes. She only hoped Goku really had succeeded in getting rid of him, because she wasn’t sure what she would do if he hadn’t.

Vegeta may have thought she had wasted her time, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew something _had_ changed. When Gohan first woke, he seemed more disoriented than anything. He didn’t even respond when she said his name, and then it was like he was struggling with something. Like he was fighting with himself. Just how close had that first ki blast been? It went by her head but...she didn’t even have time to duck. He completely missed her. And why had he decided to blow off the roof rather than blast her into oblivion when he had the chance? Something worked. That was the only explanation for why he chose to take off rather than fighting Vegeta. Maybe it was enough.

Next time she’d be sure, she told herself. When they found Trunks, she’d remember to stay strong, to make sure she didn’t lose herself to her emotions again.

Distracted by the memories from three days before, Bulma cut her hand on a sharp piece of metal and dropped it, cursing under her breath. The cut wasn’t too bad; a quick bandaid would do it fine. But she found what she was looking for at last, and she gingerly picked up the miraculously intact mask and examined it for a moment. Bulma stepped out of the camper to find Vegeta walking toward her, his dark eyes sliding down to her hands as he approached.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I told you to wait for me.”

“It’s no big deal,” she said dismissively. “Anyway, you were taking forever! I found it just fine on my own.” She held up the mask, which Vegeta regarded suspiciously for a moment. 

“It didn’t work,” he pointed out. She bit down on the inside of her cheek as her brows knitted together irritably.

“It _would have_ worked,” she snapped. “But _I_ messed up. The theory itself is sound, it’s the execution that was the problem.” He snorted in reply but said nothing more. Instead, he followed her to the tent she’d had him set up for her tools. He stood by the entrance like usual, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched her set to work in silence. She began muttering to herself, occasionally directing a question to Vegeta that didn’t need any answers. His presence always helped though, that was what mattered. She hooked the mask up to the laptop she’d frankensteined back to life, and watched the screen carefully.

“Thank goodness it’s not too damaged,” she said, relief filling her. “I just needed to leave it on longer. The brain is delicate, Vegeta. It takes time to heal.” She may have said the last part more to chastise herself for her own impatience, and he may have known that too, but he said nothing. Satisfied with its condition, she slapped a bandaid on her hand and exited the tent with her husband close behind.

Her eyes found Goten, and she felt her cheeks turn red with shame. Vegeta had told her that he needed to know the truth, but Bulma had insisted otherwise. She could fix Gohan, she knew she could. Telling Goten everything Bulla had told them was unnecessary. He didn’t need to know what Frieza had done to his brother. He didn’t need to feel the same way she felt when she thought of her own son.

But she clearly hadn’t given him the credit he deserved, and she felt foolish for doubting him. He’d certainly taken it pretty hard when he returned to camp, and the next day Bulma found it difficult to admit the truth to him. He simply nodded, told her he understood and promised that it wouldn’t change his mind about what they needed to do. He trained harder, with renewed purpose, in a way that made her think of his father. Not for the first time did she find herself thanking her lucky stars for the Son family’s resilience.

No more secrets though, he’d asked. She could promise him that much in return.

Goten’s back was to her while he was speaking animatedly to Bulla, and Bulma was glad to see that he seemed to have shaken at least some of the sorrow off of him. Bulla was a different matter entirely, though — she was still angry with her over Gohan, and Bulma was sure she blamed her for what happened. Goten and Vegeta were usually the only ones that didn’t seem to warrant glares from her anymore, though she had started giving Vegeta resentful glances ever since he’d refused to kill Gohan. 

But Bulma still received the brunt of her anger. The young woman looked at her with such contempt that it reminded her of the way Vegeta used to regard her when they returned from Namek. Sometimes she found herself just waiting to be called a useless weakling. 

“—better to block than risk exposing yourself unnecessarily, so learning how to predict what someone’s gonna do next is really important,” Goten was saying as Bulma got closer. He was moving his arms slowly to demonstrate the actions he was describing while Bulla followed his movements.

“Hey, kids!” Bulma said, cheerfully. Goten paused and looked back at her, a pleasant smile spreading across his lips.

“Hi Miss Bulma!” he said. Bulla took the opportunity to excuse herself, which didn’t really surprise Bulma, but it did sting. They watched Bulla go before Goten turned his attention back to her, seemingly unaware of Bulla’s resentment. “Any luck finding what you were looking for in the camper?”

She pushed aside her hurt to nod enthusiastically and folded her arms over her chest easily. “Sure did! We’ll be able to pack up and move on by tomorrow. Just have to make a few more adjustments before we go.”

“Great!” Goten hesitated for a moment before he continued. “Hey, uh, where are we going exactly?” he asked, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his head nervously. “It’s just...it’s been a while since I’ve seen my mom. I’m sure she’s worried, and there’s a lot she should probably know.”

Shit. With everything going on, Bulma had nearly forgotten about Chi-Chi — well, maybe not _forgotten._  That seemed harsh. But the truth was that she had been so busy that the woman had barely crossed her mind. It pained her to realize how far they’d drifted apart in the years since Frieza arrived.

“Do you know where she is now?” she asked.

“No,” Goten admitted slowly. “But I have an idea where she _might_ be.”

Bulma wasn’t as convinced as she would have liked, and she gave Goten a measuring look before she nodded. “Okay. Where to, then?” 

“Fire Mountain.”

 

Bulma couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been in this part of the world. It was so long ago that sometimes she wondered how she kept track of anything, but the heat certainly served to remind her why she hadn’t been interested in coming back. She had spent the better part of a day fixing up the camper to the best of her abilities, though that proved difficult considering how scarce scrap metal was — in this particular case, there really was none to be found. They’d opted to simply use her tent to cover up the hole and hope it didn’t miraculously start raining, and once they’d cleaned out the inside as best they could, they set out. 

At first, she was surprised to find that it seemed like Frieza’s influence had somehow overlooked a large portion of the area, at least for the first few places they passed through. The first village they came across was appropriately named Brown Country; it was small and dusty, and for a moment Bulma wondered if she’d been there before. But it didn’t take her too long to realize why they were overlooked — the town was incredibly tiny and lacked anything of particular note. The people here were especially suspicious, and so the group made quick work of resupplying themselves before moving on.

Traveling through this area seemed like it’d be a breeze. Actually _getting_ to Fire Mountain was another matter entirely. As far as she was aware, and by Goten’s own admission, the whole place had been consumed by another great fire years ago. Why Chi-Chi would choose to come back here in spite of that fact was beyond her, but Goten seemed confident that it was their best bet. At the very least, Bulma found herself feeling oddly nostalgic as they came across various landmarks that sparked memories she’d thought long since buried. 

“I was just a teenager the last time I was here,” she said absently, to whoever might be listening while she drove. “It sure is strange coming back after so long. I wonder if that dress shop is still around in Mushroom City?” She perked up at the thought and glanced over her shoulder at Bulla. “Hey! If we make a quick stop there, we could get you some new clothes!”

There was a loud thud from the roof above her, and she faintly heard her husband’s voice yell down at her. “ _Absolutely not!_ ”

Bulma glared up at where she assumed he was and reached up to smack the same spot he’d hit. “Have you _seen_ what your daughter’s wearing?! Would you rather she keep wearing those torn up rags the entire time?! We are stopping in Mushroom City and that’s that!”

“B-Bulma!” Krillin yelped as the camper swerved slightly off the road. She corrected the wheel and glowered at the road, imagining it was Vegeta she was staring down. For their part, neither Goten nor Bulla seemed too interested in speaking up. It was probably for the best.

Vegeta lost that argument, and he made his displeasure known several more times the closer they got to Mushroom City. To Bulma’s great disappointment, his objections hadn’t been unfounded; as they neared, she saw more and more signs of Frieza’s influence. Unlike Brown Country, or any of the other little pit stops they’d passed, Mushroom City was an actual city. It wasn’t very large, but its independence had likely grabbed Frieza’s attention. When she saw the unmistakable sight of a patrol station up ahead, she knew that it might have been silly to think their luck wouldn’t run out at some point. Vegeta entered the camper before anyone saw him, promptly kicking Krillin out of the passenger seat so that he could glare at Bulma more effectively.

“It’ll be _fine_ ,” she insisted, though she wasn’t nearly as sure as she thought she sounded. “I’ve been here before.”

Alright, well, that was _true_. It had been...way too many years ago (she didn’t want to admit just how many years exactly), and she had been turned into a carrot, but she _had absolutely_ been here before. Ah, the simpler times, when the worst thing she had to deal with were bunny men and dashing rogues. But thinking about Yamcha and her younger days only served to remind her of the present. 

“Hey, you two still have your IDs, right?” she said, casting a look back at Krillin and Goten.

“I have mine,” Krillin replied, digging into his pocket. 

“Good — we should switch spots with you, just in case,” she said, nodding at Vegeta. It took a little maneuvering, but all four managed to switch by the time they reached the soldiers ahead. With Krillin at the driver’s seat and Goten sitting beside him, Vegeta and Bulma retreated further back to sit across from Bulla. All three remained quiet as the car slowed and Krillin made small talk with the patrolmen.

Fortunately for them, these guys didn’t seem as disciplined as the ones in the major cities — they took a quick, cursory glance inside the camper and waved them through without a second thought. Bulma didn’t even realize how tense she was until they passed the checkpoint, and she let out a deep breath. 

“This is a pointless waste of our time. Time better spent fighting back,” Vegeta said under his breath, clearly agitated. “What supplies do we need here that we couldn’t get somewhere else?”

Maybe a part of Bulma knew that she was mostly just being stubborn for stubborn’s sake, but she was too committed to relent at this point. She crossed her arms and let out a huff, then gestured toward Bulla. “If we keep wearing those city clothes everywhere we go, _someone_ is going to realize who we are! _Especially_ Bulla. We’ve been lucky so far, but at least we can find a way to disguise her while we’re here.”

The logic wasn’t flawed, and that was perhaps one reason that Vegeta’s glare deepened in place of furthering the argument. The other reason being that Bulla moved between them so that she could lean over Goten’s seat to look out the front windows. Bulma wondered how many times Bulla had even left the city, if she ever did. When she wasn’t on Frieza’s ship, did she have any freedom to visit other places on earth? As badly as she wanted to ask, Bulma knew she wasn’t likely to get much of a response, not with how irate she still was with her. For now, she knew offering something useful would be a better approach. So, so damn much like her father.

“You know, Bulla, we could have the boys grab some hair dye for you,” she said. “Or a wig! That way you can move around more freely every time we make a stop.” Bulla turned her head slightly, just enough so that she could look back at her from the corner of her eye. For a moment, she said nothing, and Bulma wondered if she’d stepped on a landmine by mistake.

“Sure,” Bulla said at last. “Vegeta’s right, though. We shouldn’t stay too long.”

Bulma wasn’t sure what it said about their relationship that the lack of ire in Bulla’s voice felt like a step forward. She smiled brightly as she dug through her bag and retrieved some Zeni for Goten and Krillin, careful to explain to them the differences in hair dye types before she sent them off. It wasn’t until they were gone that she realized neither she nor Bulla had actually specified what color to get.

“Well, I guess it’ll be a nice surprise,” she said, laughing. Bulla said nothing, just as expected.

They weren’t gone for ten minutes, but those ten minutes still felt like an eternity. Bulla’s surly attitude made it difficult for Bulma to come up with anything of meaning to say to her. No matter how badly she wanted to connect with her daughter, it seemed like the woman wanted nothing to do with her. By the time Bulma felt like she had something of substance to offer, Bulla had taken it upon herself to relocate to the bathroom. Bulma looked to Vegeta, but his arms were folded and his eyes were closed. Whether or not he was resting or just not interested in talking, she couldn’t be sure. What she was sure of was that his patience was wearing down quickly, and she knew better than to press their luck with him. They were just lucky he’d lasted this long, frankly.

She leaned back in her chair deflatedly, peeking out the window. Most everything looked about the same as she remembered, with a few minor changes here and there. It was so quiet for a place occupied by Frieza’s Forces. At the very least, the people here seemed largely unbothered by everything. She didn’t even see a single patrol pass by.

Goten and Krillin came back with more than a couple of boxes, with both men hurriedly explaining that they had no idea what to get. “Does it matter?” Vegeta said, annoyed.

“I grabbed green,” Goten said, ignoring Vegeta and sounding far more distressed than Krillin. “And purple! I didn’t know which one she’d like more.” 

“You got two? I only grabbed black,” said Krillin, glancing down at his own bag with only mild concern. “I figured it was about as far away from blue or white as you could get.” His comment only seemed to stress Goten out more, even while Bulma assured him it was probably going to be fine.

“Where’d she go, anyway?” Krillin asked. Bulma gave a pause and glanced back at the bathroom. Now that she thought about it, Bulla _had_ been back there quite a while. Bulma couldn’t imagine she was really that set on avoiding her at all costs. 

“I’ll go see if she’s alright,” she said, smiling back at the rest. She scooped up both Krillin and Goten’s bags and walked over to the door. She knocked three times, leaning closer so she could listen. “Bulla?” Nothing. She knocked again. “Bulla, is everything alright?”

“I-I’m fine,” Bulla answered back softly. Despite being muffled by the plank of wood between them, Bulma could tell there was something off in her tone. Her lips thinned and she leaned a bit closer so that she could lower her voice.

“Are you sure?” she asked, quiet as she could without whispering. “Is it...that time of the month, or..?”

Bulla scoffed. “No.” Silence for a moment, and then a weary sigh. “Fine, just...just come in.” Bulma heard the door unlock and she slipped in. Her eyes widened at the sight before her — long strands of hair were piled on the floor around Bulla’s feet, and a pair of scissors sat on the edge of the sink. Most of Bulla’s hair was unevenly chopped to her shoulders. But there was something else that caught Bulma’s attention; the jewels in her hair were now tangled like she’d been trying to force them out. One of her hands was covering one gingerly, and she winced as she stepped back to make room for Bulma.

“There are pins,” she said. “They’re attached to the skin.” She wasn’t asking for help in the traditional sense, but Bulma could hear it in her voice. 

Bulma bit down on her lower lip. “Alright, well...turn around. I’ll see what I can do.” Bulla seemed mildly surprised, maybe a bit suspicious too, but turned around all the same. The woman could hate Bulma as much as she wanted, but the fact of the matter was that she was still her daughter. Bulma set the bags down in the sink and scooped up the scissors.

It took a moment to brush away the tangled hair so that she could get a better look at what she was dealing with, then she clicked her tongue lightly. “This’ll be easy,” she said, patting Bulla on the shoulder. “It might hurt a bit, and you’ll probably bleed a little, so hair dye right now might not be the best idea.” Bulla said nothing, which Bulma took as acknowledgment.

Little by little, she pried the tiny fangs from Bulla’s head, cringing inwardly as she did. It certainly looked like it was painful, but Bulla hardly made a sound. She did wince a few times, shift her weight a bit and let out deep breaths now and again. It took nearly a half hour to get them out, and when she finished Bulla took a few shaky steps away from her to sit on the toilet lid. Now that Bulma was able to see her face, she realized how pale she seemed. As though she were about to be sick.

“Oh, hon, if you needed me to stop—”

“No,” Bulla said, shaking her head weakly. Bulma wanted nothing more than to hold her, to comfort her somehow, but she couldn’t. Bulla was vulnerable right now and would likely be offended by the attempt. She looked down at the jewels on the sink for a moment, debating with herself before she set the scissors down and took her leave.

By the time Bulla emerged nearly two hours later, her hair was trimmed a bit more evenly at her shoulders. Vegeta’s patience had worn thin, so he and Krillin left to take a quick look around town, in case there were any nasty surprises waiting for them.

Bulla had chosen green; it was darker than the bottle suggested, almost black in the right light, though either way it did the trick. Her face had been bare of makeup for the last few weeks, but the hair color served to further mask who she was. Bulma caught the way Goten smiled proudly, validated by her choosing one of his options. Bulla only looked between them for a moment before she walked to the door of the camper.

Bulma moved to stop her, her hand pressing against the door to keep it closed. “Hold on, what are you doing?”

“I want to go look around,” she answered as if it were obvious. “The whole point of this was to be able to, right?”

“I think we should wait for your dad to get back,” Bulma appealed to Bulla, but it fell on willfully deaf ears. Her daughter didn’t have to work very hard to open the door even when she tried to keep it closed.

“I know what I’m doing,” Bulla insisted, her eyes hardening on Bulma. “I can take care of myself.”

Bulma looked back to Goten for support, but to her chagrin, he seemed to misread what she wanted. “Oh, I can go too,” he offered instantly, standing from his seat. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Move,” Bulla snapped, exasperated. She slipped out easily enough, and Bulma was forced to open the door wider so that Goten could follow. He offered her a reassuring smile as he went.

“Don’t worry! We’ll be back soon,” he said. Bulma sighed. There was no winning that one, she knew. After a brief glance outside, she shook her head and took down one of the curtains, wrapping it around her head to conceal her hair. She promised she wasn’t going to let anything happen to Bulla, and while she trusted Goten, she’d never forgive herself if something _did_ happen. What kind of mother would she be if she just kept failing to protect her children?

She scribbled a note for Vegeta, in case he came back before they did, and set off quickly. She would _not_ fail again.


	27. To Thine Own Self (Reprise)

Trunks Briefs wanted this. It was an honor to be judged, he knew that. It confirmed that he was strong. It was an honor and it was terrifying. So terrifying and lonely that the ache in his bones became his only comfort. It became his reminder, that ache. The ache assured him he was alive, nudging him to what he needed to do.

He didn’t know what day it was. What time it was. What year it was. He thought, maybe, fleetingly, that it was night time. But his thoughts weren’t his anymore. It was as cold here as it was there— wherever here or there was. And he wasn’t Trunks Briefs anymore. He was someone else. Someone better.

But — kami, the ache came with the _twisting_. It came with the thing on his face. They put it on him on the fifth day, when he was so exhausted that his muscles refused to move. He hadn’t slept in ages. Hadn’t eaten, either. But the thing went on and it didn’t matter. Something crawled under his skin, wormed its way into his muscle, scrambled him around, chewed him and threw him back up. It was too soon, he heard them say. It didn’t matter, they also said. They had orders, too.

Her orders. His orders. They repeated themselves in his mind. They weren’t whispers anymore. There were no whispers. Just screaming. Just the same orders. Over and over. Again and again.

_Do not fail._

_DO NOT FAIL._

He’d been sent on his search when there was light. They’d sent three others as well. Commander Birren and two more. They were powerful, not as powerful as him though. They talked a lot and said nothing all at once. Commander Birren was the only one who mattered. The rest didn’t. Their voices never actually reached him, maybe. Or he just couldn’t hear them over the ones in his head, maybe. They searched and searched and the voices got louder. His head hurt. It didn’t matter. He felt it.

It came from Ginger Town. An echo of colliding power. He pushed forward and remained motionless above the town below. It had been three days and the power was fading from here. His body ached the longer they stayed. New orders came. _Burn them. No survivors._ So he did. He burned them all. The screaming came from outside his head now.

Such agony. Such terror. Such...noise.

He needed to make them stop.

So he did that too. He didn’t stop until the screaming was gone.

 _Trunks,_ a woman’s voice barely echoed in his mind. It sounded familiar. The voice, that word. He turned his head. Teal hair. She was staring. Commander Birren quickly corrected her. He had no name. He had no use for one. But a moment later his body stopped cooperating. Something felt like it had snapped. His head felt like it was splitting open and his bones twisted under his skin. Commander Birren ordered him to move. He could not. He tried, and he collapsed, and all he knew was darkness.

Time doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because he was told it doesn’t matter. At some point. By someone. Commander Birren is gone now. The whispers were different now.

 _Too soon, too soon. Earthlings are so stupid._ His fingers twitched, grasping at nothing. _It’s moving. So stop it._ Something stopped his hand. _He’s weaker than the other. Half-breeds usually are._ Pain crawled up his spine. He wanted to cry out, but his voice was gone. _That’s not true. The other one’s a half-breed and low-class, and still the strongest we’ve ever seen._ His muscles were burning. Like they were on fire. _A treasonous statement._ He wanted to make it stop. _But not untrue._ He was being taken apart. He was sure of it. 

He moved through the darkness now. It was a long hallway to an unknown end. _I can see it._ His body ached, but the pain was dull now. There still, but dull. _See what? The resemblance._ He was pushed forward. _Me too. Wonder what the king will think._ He was walking. His movements were not his own. _Depends on how he feels about half-breeds. This one’s strong though._ This place was new. _If his father really is who they say, then it’s only natural._

He is brought here, in a long room full of cold stares. Whispers surrounded him, both inside and out. He was still. Why would he move? He hadn’t been told yet. _Take it off. I’ll see it with my own eyes._ Light floods his vision suddenly. It burned. The severance is abrupt and painful. He still doesn’t move. _There’s another. A girl._ The man is tall. His hair is spiky. It’s familiar, and it isn’t all at once.  _Two half-breeds. To think the prince would stoop so low._ He wants to hurt him. _Put the mask back on. Nappa, take it with you._ He isn’t allowed to want anymore. Dark again. But he has new orders to fulfill.

_Find the prince. Bring him back here._


	28. Mother's Daughter

It had been nearly a month since anyone had last seen Bulla. Marron stood outside on the balcony of her home, staring down at the city below while she thought. They’d been separated plenty of times before, mostly whenever Frieza had deemed it necessary to take the other woman with him off-world. Sometimes she couldn’t be sure if they’d ever see each other again.

Yet there was something different with this separation, something discomforting. She’d had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach the day Bulla left for Frieza’s ship with Almone and watched from the top of the staircase as the captain smiled at her companion. It was no secret to anyone of even minor importance that Almone bore a strong resentment for Bulla that stemmed from misplaced envy. That smile was not meant to be a pleasant one.

The only thing that calmed her was the knowledge that Frieza had favored Bulla for years; she was his most prized toy, one he actively enjoyed tormenting. The poor thing had committed the crime of being her father’s daughter, and so she suffered frequently for it. His only courtesy had been waiting until Bulla was nearly a woman before his more twisted games began, though he more than made up for the lost time with his cruelty.

She knew Frieza wasn’t likely to dispose of his favorite plaything so easily, no matter her crimes. If anything, she was sure it’d only add fuel to his fire. So when neither Frieza nor Bulla came back, Marron knew something was wrong. 

She glanced up as four shadows passed over her, her blonde hair rustling in their wake. The Saiyans currently occupying the skies arrived a day after Almone took control of the city in earnest. According to her, Lord Frieza was away on some other urgent matters and the princess had been kidnapped by the rebels. Yet no ransom had been demanded, no terms of surrender issued, and Marron herself had received no information from her own sources. Another wrinkle in the captain’s story came from her insistence that the Saiyans were loyal to Lord Frieza, and completely in her command.

But as far as Marron could tell, the Saiyans were _barely_ under control, if they were controllable at all. Even now she watched as those four shadows formed into men and descended upon a platform full of Armored Forces. Within seconds a fight broke out, and Marron was careful to follow where the bursts of light were shooting toward. She looked down at the remains of what was once a potted plant on her balcony. Now, it was rubble.

Yet for the most part, she remained unconcerned. It didn’t take long for the Elite Guard to arrive and put an end to the fight. The Saiyans’ mocking laughter rang out as they flew away and Marron saw that at least one Armored Forces soldier was dead. The sound of her communicator’s insistent beeping drew her away from the scene.

She’d been waiting for this message for five days but found little comfort in the words she read. Her suspicions about the Saiyans had been correct, at least — Commander Birren and his company had been ambushed outside Ginger Town. Only two soldiers came back: her contact, Elo, and an Armored Forces officer named Pasley. Apparently, some Saiyans had been killed just days before the ambush, and their king was displeased when Almone sent her soldiers to cover the evidence. The captain had worked hard to keep the truth from the general public, and Marron stole a glance at her window as if expecting to see those four Saiyans ready to attack her next.

Captain Almone was a proud woman of many talents, Marron mused to herself. She’d caught Bulla red-handed in a spectacular fashion, having planted the information deliberately for Yamcha to find and deliver. And yet in spite of that, she never once thought to suspect Marron of any treason, and she hadn’t expected that her command wouldn’t be enough to keep order among Frieza’s new army. In all honesty, she didn’t really blame the woman for keeping it a secret. If word got out that those ruthless aliens refused to listen to a captain they seemed to consider weak, well…it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

At the very least, Marron could find _some_ good news among all the bad. Elo was a good man and she was glad he had survived the ambush. He was Char’s younger brother, around Bulla’s age and almost as stubborn. He’d committed himself to their quiet rebellion not long after Char had, and became much more involved since the execution. Marron wished she could say the same. Maybe then Bulla wouldn’t have been caught. Maybe she’d still be here.

That night, Marron slept restlessly, haunted by what-ifs and visions of the life she might have had with Char. Elo would meet her the next morning, while everyone was distracted by the military demonstration Almone had arranged. He had survived the Saiyan attack but not without injury, and it was simple enough to exaggerate the severity. She woke up well before dawn with Char’s face still clear in her mind and slipped out of her home unnoticed. Their meeting spot had been chosen carefully; a small park not too far away from where she lived, so that if she were spotted it was easier to claim restlessness. She was still grieving her losses, after all.

She heard Elo’s voice before she saw him. “Made it alright?” He was partially obscured by the low-hanging tree branches and wore a hooded jacket for additional cover. Little good it did him — he was taller than most men, with the same deep brown skin his brother had. He stood out no matter what he did in West City.

“No one saw me,” she said. “Even if they did, I'm still in mourning. You said it was important?”

“It is,” he answered. “Your dad’s alive. He was long gone by the time we got to Ginger Town.”

Relief swept over her like a cool breeze. “And my uncle?” Elo shook his head and the relief was replaced by a twinge of sadness. She didn’t know her uncle very well, but their secret conversations in the last few months had been something she enjoyed. She would grieve him later when there weren’t as many pressing issues at hand.

“There’s...something else,” he continued, peering around uncertainly. “The faceless man you told me about is gone. The Saiyans that attacked us took off with him. It was almost like they were looking for him specifically.”

Marron paused. She didn’t know anything about the Saiyans, or why they would want himof all people, but Elo was looking at her as though he expected her to have those answers. All she knew was that it probably wasn’t good. If she could get into contact with her father somehow, she might be able to warn him at least. But Bulla was the one who’d opened that line of communication, and with her gone Marron only had one person she could contact, and even that was difficult to do.

“The faceless man is well trained,” she said at last. “They’ll likely regret that choice soon enough. Any idea what Almone is planning to do about it?” It was Elo’s turn to offer no answers, shrugging defeatedly.

“No, but the partner I got seemed to know the faceless man,” he said. This surprised Marron enough to make pique her interest, but she furrowed her brow in doubt.

“How? No one’s supposed to know,” she said skeptically. No one but Frieza and perhaps Almone knew who the faceless man was. 

“She seemed pretty sure of it. Commander Birren was about to send her back for training before we were attacked,” he paused to think for a moment. “She called him Trunks.”

For the first time as far back as she could remember, Marron found she had nothing to say. The news was a shock to her, and her immediate reaction was to reject it. There had to be a mistake. This was some horrible idea of a joke. Yet the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. Frieza enjoyed his caged birds, and none was as prized to him as his princess. But Trunks was as much a reflection of the father, if not more so. She imagined that making him into the new faceless man was some kind of cruel irony that held meaning only to a dead man and his enemy. 

Well, not so dead anymore she supposed. Maybe that was the reason for it.

While her mind was racing, she had been careful that her expression did not betray her thoughts. Elo studied her closely, looking for anything in her face that might give him an answer she would not share. 

“I’ll send for you tomorrow, after the parade,” she said. “We should both gather our thoughts in the meantime.”

 

When Marron woke up the next morning, she found herself a little more melancholy than she was before. She had been fairly close to Trunks when they were little. She played with him and Goten whenever their parents got together and looked back on those days fondly. Marron knew he’d likely been made to forget — even Char, who was her age, carried very few memories from before Frieza’s rule. All soldiers had been reprogrammed like that, after a fashion. Still, she had hoped that one day she might have a chance to speak with him herself. The chance never came, and now she wasn’t sure if it ever would.

The faceless man had always been a rumor to most people. Then again, most people had never been on Frieza’s ship, and that was where he was kept most of the time. For Marron’s part, her experience with the faceless man was the knowledge that he brought death and fear on Frieza’s command. She’d been forced to sit by helplessly whenever he was used to drag Bulla kicking and screaming to Frieza, on the rare days when the girl was brave enough to fight back, or if Frieza felt she wasn’t sufficiently frightened enough. He never spoke, never did anything he wasn’t commanded to do, and never gave her the impression that he was ever a man made of flesh and blood. Whoever or whatever he was, though, it seemed as though he’d been replaced.

Knowing that _this_ faceless man was Trunks was both a bitter pill to swallow and something of an opportunity. It left open the possibility that he could be reached, or reasoned with if the right tool was applied. Elo had proposed talking to the soldier that knew him before anyone else found out, and Marron had returned to her duties, all while worry bothered the back of her mind. If they weren’t careful, if this soldier breathed a word of Elo’s questions to anyone else, then Marron would be alone.

 _Though not entirely,_ she thought to herself, glancing down at the old communicator. She hadn’t carried it so much in years, not since she was first brought to West City. Of all the things she cherished most, this was her most precious possession, and she’d been careful not to share it with anyone — not even Bulla.

Marron watched the procession with a pleasant smile playing across her lips, even as her mind raced. From where she sat high above the audience in a closed-off room, she could see the entire army as they passed. She was alone in her seat. Normally, Bulla would be beside her, but with the other woman gone, she only had a guard standing by the door behind her. She had requested some privacy, citing grief as her reason. The truth was her need for discretion for the meeting she would soon have, and her fingers tapped over the small device again while she waited.

Blue eyes scanned over the faces of the soldiers slowly, trying in vain to spot anyone she might recognize. But none of the faces were recognizable to her; Elo had returned to the barracks to continue his injured act, and there wasn’t a single lavender haired man among the Armored Forces. She wasn’t sure if she had been looking for the confirmation, really. She just knew that having it made her feel heavier than she did before.

Above the lines of soldiers, Marron saw the shapes of men and women flying overhead. Occasionally one or two would stop, presumably to watch for a moment before continuing on. The Saiyans were becoming fewer and fewer within the city as the day went on, she could tell. Whether that was a result of Almone’s inability to control them or their own plans being put in motion, Marron couldn’t be sure. What she could be sure of was that she had to act fast. There was no better opportunity to make her move than while Almone and her Forces were distracted by the Saiyans.

 _Everyone will underestimate you, and they’ll try to break you,_ her mother’s voice played again in her head. _You’re a lot tougher than they’re gonna give you credit for._ It was the last thing she’d said to her before they were separated, and she’d clung to those words ever since.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. The event was done; the marching had come to an end and soldiers were returning to their posts slowly, with cheers from the crowd spurring them on. And it was nearly time for her own meeting, so long as Elo had been successful. Her communicator beeped suddenly, indicating another message. To most it would look like nonsense — numbers strung together in a random sequence. But it didn’t take long for her to decode, her mind doing so automatically after years of practice.

‘F.M. - S, OXKI - LKOUT - N, HTC - AVD SYNS’

The locations, she knew. But why? One held nothing of significance as far as she knew, and the other had been destroyed years ago. Avoiding Saiyans, however… she frowned at the screen, wishing desperately that any response she could write would reach the messenger. But she knew it wouldn’t — this was a mostly one-way line of communication, only used for emergencies. It was safer that way, for both of them. 

“Lancer,” she called out. She was always careful to remember her guards’ names. It was a good way to inspire at least some trust between her and them. One of the ways she and Bulla differed, she supposed. Bulla always preferred flirting from a distance to keep the mystery going. He answered quickly, stepping into the room and waiting until she spoke again. “I’m seeing a visitor soon. Would you let me know when they show up?”

Under normal circumstances, a guard may have questioned her, or at least reported this visitor in secret. But Lancer was different; he was especially loyal, and she knew he carried an unspoken affection for her. A few guards did, after her years of careful planning. And she was prepared to take full advantage of their feelings, so long as they were willing to eat out of the palm of her hand. He nodded dutifully and returned to his post, and Marron turned back to look out the large windows before her. 

Elo arrived twenty minutes later, a hood once more obscuring his features. Lancer informed her of his arrival and suddenly had something very important to do elsewhere, taking his leave quickly and quietly. They would have less than half an hour until he returned. As the door shut behind him, Elo was quick to brush off the hood and look at her, excitement written in the lines of his smile.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “What is it?” 

“She’s in love with him,” he said, and Marron paused, taking a moment to figure out who he was talking about. Then, it hit her.

“The soldier is in love with Trunks?” she asked, to which he nodded enthusiastically. “How do you know?”

“When I asked her about the faceless man, it took a while but she told me practically everything she knew,” he said. “They took him to Ginger Town for a test of some sort, 'cept he broke down when she said his name. That’s when the Saiyans attacked — they were _waiting_ for the opening,” Marron said nothing, instead choosing to mull over the implications of this information. And what it would mean for the other message she’d just received.

Elo mistook her silence for not understanding and strode over so he was closer to her. “Don’t you see what this means? If her saying _his name_ had an effect—”

“It doesn’t help us right now, either way,” she said at last. The message made more sense now. _Avoid Saiyans._ They had their own schemes to work out. He stopped short and looked at her quizzically, a bit taken aback by her words. “You said the Saiyans took him, right? It’d be suicide to go after him now.” She could see the way Elo deflated, and her eyes softened on him. “It’s not for nothing, Elo. We’ll remember this information and the woman and use it when it makes sense.”

Marron moved away from him and stepped closer to the windows, looking down at the streets below. Another bitter pill, another cold reality. There was nothing she could do to help Trunks or reach out to him; for now, he was in the Saiyans hands, and whatever they planned to do with him would be revealed in time. Right now, Almone was the more immediate, more dangerous threat, and Bulla was still out there somewhere. Likely at one of the locations she’d been given, unless they were given to her for another reason.

“Her name’s Pasley,” Elo said suddenly. Marron looked to him from over her shoulder, and her eyes softened. Where he was kind-hearted and empathetic, Marron found herself far more cautious. It was one of the many differences between her and Bulla; the other woman had her patience, had learned to bite her tongue in Frieza’s presence, but she’d also been headstrong and at times careless in the way she did things. Sometimes she envied Bulla for it.

But the one time Marron allowed her impatience to rule over her had turned out to be her greatest mistake. Char’s face was burned into her mind now and always as a testament to it.

Her smile turned sympathetic. “Do you think she’d help us? Would she betray her orders? Join our cause?” she asked, not unkindly. Elo paused, then frowned, and then she saw him understand. He shook his head.

“Not...willingly. Not yet, anyway,” he said. “She was reluctant enough talking about him with me.”

“Then we’ll come back to this another time when she’s had more opportunity to consider her allegiance. We don’t have the time for her,” Marron said, not unkindly. “There’s something else I need you to do.” 

“What is it?” he asked, and Marron couldn’t blame the wariness in his voice.

“I need you to die.”

She allowed the silence to settle between them and watched him from the corner of her eye. Of course, she didn’t mean for him to actuallydie. This was figurative, but appropriate in its meaning. It was something they had only ever discussed the possibility of before. By ‘dying,’ he wouldn’t be able to return to the city. He had a sister, she knew. Char had spoken fondly about her on a regular basis. It wasn’t fair to ask him to do this, and yet she knew they had no choice, and she hoped that he knew that too. It was now or never. Captain Almone would only be distracted for so long.

He didn’t move for a moment, didn’t seem to react at first, but then he nodded. “I’ll get to dying. Then what?” Elo was always a good soldier, ready to follow orders. Just like his brother.

Marron smiled again, though it was a hollow one. “Then you’re going to meet my mother.”


	29. Girl With One Eye

“You’ll want something you can move around in. Otherwise, you’ll just end up limiting yourself and that could really cost you,” Goten said, pushing aside the jeans hanging on the rack. Bulla released the pair she’d been feeling between her fingers and watched him as he moved onto another shelf. 

“Like these!” he said, holding up a pair of perfectly good pants. They looked athletic and durable, the two main things that really mattered. But she made a face and he looked at them before looking back to her, confused by her reaction. “What? Look, they stretch. And they’re tough!” He pulled on the fabric lightly to illustrate his point, but she just shook her head.

“They’re hideous,” she said, unimpressed.

“Well the goal is to pick something that works for a fight, not to look good,” he said. “Besides, orange is a great color.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not for me.”

Bulla walked by him and he replaced the pants with a defeated sigh. He didn’t really understand what could be so hard about finding clothes. To him, while he was impressed she’d lasted this long in what she was wearing he couldn’t imagine _how_ she’d managed. Her city clothes were in tatters, and even before they were he found them ridiculously impractical. The skirt was too short and the top too tight, and the holes and tears only made them look that much worse. All her training had worn them down to the point where Vegeta had shoved his own shirt at her at one point.

But she didn’t seem happy with anything they were finding, and he wasn’t sure how long he could stand wandering around in a store. The people here were polite enough when they weren’t shooting rude glances in Bulla’s direction. A few times now had he felt the urge to give them a piece of his mind or give them the same dirty looks they gave her. She didn’t seem to notice or care though, so he grudgingly swallowed down his irritation. It wasn’t his place to get bothered on her behalf.

Not to mention, they should probably avoid drawing any more attention than they already were; which was another reason he was getting restless here. Bulma had warned him how valuable Bulla was in the cities; she was literally a princess, and Frieza had built a whole narrative around her. The longer they stayed, the more time people had to realize her raggedy clothes were city-made. More time for them to piece together who she was.

It was at that moment that he realized he’d lost track of her. Goten stood a little straighter, craning his neck so that he could look over the racks and shelves. 

“Bu—” he stopped himself short. If he said her name out loud, someone might recognize it and put two and two together. He chewed on his bottom lip, unsure for a moment of what to do. If he couldn’t say her name, then he’d just have to look for her in silence and hope he found her quickly. When he’d walked the entire length of the store and still didn’t see her, however, he started to worry a bit more, and his mind went down a litany of worst-case scenarios.

What if she was spotted? Surely she would’ve fought back, and he would’ve heard it. The store wasn’t that big, and there was no chance anyone could just sneak in and grab her without him noticing. At the very least, it’s not like she was afraid of being loud — he’d heard her when she got especially annoyed, and being grabbed would definitely annoy her. 

“Goten?” He jumped at the sound of his name and spun around to find her standing behind him, looking at him with vague curiosity. A deep breath escaped his mouth and he let his shoulders relax.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, frowning lightly. She held up a bag that had the store’s logo on it. “You should’ve said something. I thought you…” he sighed, and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“I found something after all,” she said simply. “Come on, we should go.”

Goten rubbed his face before he followed her out, but he couldn’t deny the relief he felt at seeing her safe and decidedly un-grabbed from right under his nose. She walked ahead of him with such confidence, so carefree like they weren’t currently on the run from the army of the most dangerous tyrant in the galaxy. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he followed her out of the store and down the road a bit before she abruptly turned down an alleyway. Bewildered, he rounded the corner to find she had run ahead, and she stopped at the end of the alley to motion at him frantically.

“Hurry up!” she hissed. 

“Why are we—”

“Shh! Just hurry!”

He did as she said and rushed down the alley, which quickly became narrower and narrower as they went until he had to turn sideways to make it out the other end. When he emerged, she was leaning against the wall beside him, peering around the corner. 

“Bulla, what’s going on?” he asked.

“Bulma was following us,” she said. Goten paused, brow creasing as he took in her words.

“We…ran from Bulma?” he repeated slowly, and she nodded. He brought a hand up to the back of his head to scratch at it, taking a moment to consider his next words before he said them. “Bulla…you know she’s on our side, right?”

“I know that,” she snapped, turning back to look at him and he found he wasn’t entirely convinced. He shook his head at her, trying not to come off as too displeased, though it was hard not to. Goten really didn’t understand why she resented her mom so much, not after everything he’d seen Bulma go through to appeal to her. Normally, he wouldn’t get involved, but this was a bit much. Now he felt like he was right in the middle of it.

“She’s just looking out for you,” he said, a bit more heated than he intended.

Bulla clicked her tongue at him as she dug into her bag. “I think I’m old enough to look out for myself.” He _wanted_ to tell her how childish that sounded but thought better of it. 

“It doesn’t matter how old we get, that’s just what moms do. My mom’s the same way.”

“You don’t understand,” she said testily, while making it clear that she refused to elaborate by the way she fell silent. For a moment, he thought about dropping it. It wasn’t his business, he heard his mind telling him, but his mouth had other ideas. 

“You know what? You’re right, I don’t understand. Bulma’s been nothing but kind to you, and you keep throwing it in her face. She can’t even say hello without you getting mad at her! She’s your mom, and she loves you — the least you can do is be a _little_ grateful.”

Bulla stopped sifting through the bag, and Goten braced himself for the argument that was sure to erupt. Instead, she remained still for a moment before she withdrew the clothes she’d purchased. Goten’s eyes widened when she pulled off the shirt her father had given her before she started peeling off her ruined top without warning. He only just managed to come to his senses when he caught sight of her bare chest and wheeled around quickly, his cheeks flushed red from embarrassment. 

He kept his back to her until he heard the sound of the bag being moved again. When he cautiously looked back, she had changed into dark blue leggings and a plain white top, and she bent to finish lacing the brown knee-high boots she had on now. The outfit was a stark difference from what she wore before. But when she stood straight again and finally looked at him, all he saw was the same anger and resentment she always seemed to bear, now with a flash of hurt on top. All of it directed at him this time.

“You don’t understand,” she said again, only this time her shaky voice barely contained her emotion. “ _She_ left _me._ I don’t care if she feels bad about it now. She knew exactly what Frieza was capable of and she still left me with him. _Frieza_ was more of a parent to me.” Bulla draped Vegeta’s shirt over her shoulder and gave a hollow laugh at the look on Goten’s face. “He made me what I am now. She had a choice about that once too, you know. You should ask her about it sometime.” She threw the bag full of her old, filthy clothes and shoes into the dumpster next to them and kicked the side so the lid would slam shut. “That woman hasn’t been my mother in any way but blood for years, Goten. A few weeks of _kindness_ isn’t going to change that.”

Goten wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t that, and he felt a pang of regret over what he’d said. It really hadn’t been his place to get involved after all, and she was right by saying he didn’t understand. He still didn’t, and now he just had questions. But when it came down to it, his feelings truly didn’t matter. She was hurt and angry, and whatever happened between her and her mom was really up to them to figure out.

Bulla turned on her heel and started to make for the end of the alleyway they were in, and for a moment, Goten debated on whether or not she’d even let him follow her. Not that he had much of a choice — he’d never be able to forgive himself if something happened to her, especially not now. 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he caught up with her. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He expected her silence, expected the way she regarded him with glaring eyes while she walked. He knew it was probably going to be like this the rest of the time they spent together. It still stung.

They emerged from the other end of the alley to a busy market, where stalls were practically smashed together full of various items. Goten hadn’t noticed at first, but he quickly realized why they hadn’t seen many patrols before. They all seemed to be here, and it made sense given how busy the place was, but he was relieved to see more people with pale complexions — tourists, he assumed, though the idea alone was almost funny to him. Rich people from the city were still finding ways to ignore and even profit off the bad stuff happening around them.

At the very least, it made him feel better knowing that they didn’t stand out quite as bad as before. Goten and Bulla were easy to miss in the crowd, especially given how different she looked. The market itself took up the entire street, with a person filling almost every single spare space. Goten had never felt so many people brush by him before, and he nearly lost sight of Bulla before he realized she’d come to a stop in front of a jewelry stall. Goten moved so that he was next to her, and leaned over her shoulder slightly so that he could get a look at them himself.

“Pretty girl needs a pretty necklace,” the vendor said, suddenly realizing he had customers. His voice was heavily accented, though Goten couldn’t quite place it. He picked up a long silver chain and held it out to her, and she gingerly took it to examine it closer. “Lovely little thing, innit?”

“It is,” she said. “But I’m only looking.”

The vendor eyed her a moment, then shifted his attention to Goten. “You there, good man — don’t you reckon your pretty girl _deserves_ a pretty necklace?”

Goten gaped a moment. “Oh, uh, she’s not—”

“5,000 zeni,” the vendor said, ignoring Goten’s protest. “5,000 zeni to make your girl happy. Look at her!” he tutted and shook his head at Goten. “Be a good man and treat your woman right!”

“Thank you,” Bulla said curtly. Goten jumped a little when he felt one of her arms slip around his, her other hand coming to rest against his chest. She offered the vendor a pleasant smile, a sight that took Goten by surprise far more than the man’s pushiness. “We just don’t have that kind of zeni.” 

The vendor lost all interest in them in a second. He set the necklace down and offered them a stiff farewell, then whipped around to say the same things to another unsuspecting couple. Goten blinked in the face of confusion, and Bulla tugged on his arm to get him to move. She released him as they stepped back into the crowd, and Goten couldn’t help but wonder at how quickly that had transpired. It also hadn’t escaped him how she’d grabbed his arm so comfortably, as though she’d done it a thousand times before.

“That was…” he started slowly. “That was really weird.”

Bulla shrugged lightly but said nothing. The rest of the market was much the same, and Goten was careful to seem less interested than he really was in anything they stopped to look at. The only thing they ended up spending any of their remaining zeni on was food and wound up stopping to eat three separate times. By the time they began making their way back to the camper, Goten realized she hadn’t said a single word to him for hours. 

But the next time she looked at him, it wasn’t with anger or resentment or even irritation. Her eyes somehow seemed softer than before, like there was something she wanted to say and couldn’t. He didn’t know what it meant, not really, and the mystery kept him awake that night. 

 

They left Mushroom City before the sun had fully risen. Goten woke up with a swift kick to the side from Vegeta, though he quickly realized why. He’d gone to sleep late and was the last one to wake up again. After a quick breakfast, they were off again, with Bulma at the wheel and Vegeta grudgingly remaining inside until they were clear of the city. Unable to bear the silence between Bulla and Goten, Krillin found a deck of cards and insisted on a game.

“Come on you two,” he said, ushering them to the fold-out table he pulled from the wall. “It’s a long way to Fire Mountain and we’re gonna go nuts just sitting here.”

They sat down to play, though it didn’t seem to have the effect Krillin was going for. Goten found it easy to fall into a conversation with the other man, considering just how long they’d known each other, but neither had much luck getting Bulla to talk. In fact, she continued holding her cards, only drawing when it was her turn and hesitantly discarding. She frequently glanced between them and the cards they were putting down. Eventually, Krillin peered at Bulla curiously and cleared his throat.

“You gonna put down any cards or just hold onto them forever?” he said, not unkindly.

She glanced at him a moment and her lips pursed, and Goten noticed a hint of pink creeping across her cheeks. Then, it hit him.

“Have you ever played this game before?” he asked. “It’s okay if you haven’t. We should’ve asked before we started. Here,” he scooted his chair a little closer to her and held out his cards for her to see. “you’re trying to get rid of your cards, so you’re gonna match up the numbers or try to get a run. See how my cards go from one to four? I can put these down so I only have six cards left, but I still have to draw another card. Now I need to match the numbers three at a time.”

He demonstrated everything as he spoke, and laughed at the card he drew. “Well, sometimes it takes a second. I have two threes and two eights but I’m still stuck with these other two numbers, so I can’t do anything. Now it’s Krillin’s turn.”

“Heh, thanks for telling us all the cards you have,” Krillin teased, leaning over to grab a card from the deck. He smiled smugly and slowly set down every card he had — a full set. “Not that it mattered!”

Goten laughed and tossed his cards down. “Jeez, Krillin, we were supposed to teach her how to play, not end it before she even has a chance!”

“I get it,” she said, setting her cards down on the pile. “Let’s play again.”

He grinned and shuffled the cards quickly, and all three play for a few hours. The longer they played, the more comfortable Bulla seemed to get, and at one point Goten caught her fighting back a smile. 

But eventually the game ended and Krillin moved to switch with Bulma, who’d elected to nap in the passenger seat rather than join Goten and Bulla in the back. Everyone remained relatively quiet then, with Bulla opting to sit by a window and watch the desert go by. Goten nodded off a few times himself and decided that the desert was way more boring than he’d thought it would be. They didn’t stop until the sun started going down. Krillin drove the camper off-road and parked it beneath a sandstone arch, and the group slowly filtered out of the camper.

Goten looked up to see Vegeta above them, standing on top of the arch and fixing his gaze somewhere back west. He frowned a bit and looked the same direction, as if expecting to see what had the Saiyan’s attention, but nothing caught his attention. Whatever Vegeta was looking at, it seemed like only he could see it.

“Hey,” Bulla’s voice caught his attention. He looked down to see she was standing in front of him, her arms folded neatly under her chest. “Want to train?”

The offer came as a surprise, and for a few seconds, Goten wasn’t sure what to say. She looked a little uncertain herself, though she was quick to hide it behind an impatient sigh. “If you’d rather not, just say so,” she said, shifting her weight from one hip to the other.

“Oh, uh, no I can train with you,” he said at last, looking around and motioning toward a less rocky area. “Let’s go over there, though.” He made his way over and she followed after them, he turned and walked backward a few steps. “What do you want to work on?”

She thought for a moment before she spoke. “First, I wanted to say...” she trailed off, then shook her head. “Nevermind. Blocking. Like what you started showing me before.”

He waited a moment, to see if she wanted to finish what she’d started saying after all. When she didn’t, he simply nodded. She’d come around to it when she did, he figured. “Right. Okay, well, let’s get started then!”

They didn’t talk much. He gave the occasional explanation, had her doing the hitting for him to block. She was getting better, he noticed, but there was no denying that she’d missed years of time to hone her movements and get better acquainted with her fighting instincts. It made him think back to what she’d said the day before, what Bulma had told him about those jewels she’d had in her hair, and he felt another sting of guilt. _Of course Frieza had kept her weak,_ he thought. _How else would he have had her for so long?_

The training slowly devolved into just casual sparring, when she seemed confident enough to block without his instruction. While she was getting better, she was also getting a little more vicious — she didn’t fight to be fair and she didn’t care about being honorable. She fought to win. It reminded him of Vegeta, but where the Saiyan prince could accomplish this through pure skill, Bulla’s lack of experience led to some pretty dirty tricks. She’d always aim for his throat or the back of his legs, and she’d stepped on his foot more than once. He’d already learned not to fall for the hurt noises she’d made, but he’d misread her body language and believe her to be wearing down, only to be met with a knee in his chest.

He figured out that that was a common move of hers; she seemed to find it easier to focus her strength into her legs rather than her arms, and he caught on quick. The second time she did it, he took the hit so he could grab her leg and swing her around, fully expecting to drop her onto the ground. But then she reached out and grabbed the back of his head in an effort to steady herself, using her other elbow to hit him on the side of the head. It didn’t really hurt per se, but it did make him lose his footing.

They landed in the sand with a thud. Bulla was under him, one leg draped around his middle and an arm having fallen around his neck. He’d at least managed to catch himself before he fell on her fully, both of his arms on either side of her to hold himself up. Their faces were a little too close together, barely an inch apart, and for a moment neither moved or said a word. And then Bulla abruptly started laughing. It took him a few seconds, during which he was no less confused than before, but he followed suit. It carried on like that for a bit, with Goten fumbling out an apology between breaths before he heard an irritated scoff. He looked up to see Vegeta standing a few feet away, his arms crossed while he glowered at them darkly. It was only then that Goten realized what their position may have looked like, and he scrambled to stand up, reaching down to help pull Bulla to her feet. She brushed herself off, seemingly unbothered by the look Vegeta was giving them both.

“If you two are finished fooling around, you have some _real_ training to do,” he snapped. Goten fought to suppress the warmness in his cheeks as he nodded. “That was a pathetic display, if either of you were even trying.”

“Er, you’re probably right. I think we’re just a little tired,” Goten said, far too nervously. Kami, he felt like an awkward teenager again.

“Tch. Tired isn’t a good enough excuse for _that_ ,” Vegeta said.

The Saiyan prince certainly put them through their paces, and by the time he crawled into his bedroll that night, Goten was sure he’d be sore in the morning. He drifted off like he did most nights, with the thought of everything looming over him — Gohan, finding his mom, Seeda, where his dad had gone again, the army chasing them...there was a lot, alright? But then he remembered the way Bulla’s cheeks had turned pink from laughing, and how her smile seemed to light up her entire face. It made everything seem just a little less dire. If she could find something to smile about, then maybe things would be alright after all.


	30. Vi Coactus

Frieza had taken everything from him once before. 

First, it was his father and his planet. The wound had cut him deep, had gone far enough to consume his every waking moment. Vegeta used it to fuel his vengeance, trained himself to the point of breaking, only to be humiliated in his defeat. Then Kakarot swooped in and took the revenge that was rightfully his, killing Frieza and avenging their people all at once. It had been the greatest insult of his life, having that taken from him on top of everything else.

But that had been almost a lifetime ago, and the wound had long since healed. The next time he’d seen Frieza, he had regarded him as seriously as one would regard a reckless child. He was no longer afraid. He had no reason to be, especially after he’d defeated him so handily that time. Those shadows no longer loomed over him.

There was a new wound now, festering somewhere in the back of his mind. It took the form of his children, dancing on the ends of strings held by the same one who once held his own. To even consider that Frieza had become so much stronger than before, had ascended even beyond the power of a _Super Saiyan God_...it was impossible. Vegeta had refused to accept it, all the way up until he was beaten and bloodied among the wreckage of the ship. Then Kakarot came, and...had he defeated Frieza again after all? The power emanating from that wormhole was immense. Even now he could still feel it.

Frieza may have been gone, but his presence remained throughout the world still. Remained in his children. This was the reality of things, loath as he was to acknowledge it. Knowing that Frieza manipulated Trunks’ mind to the point of turning on his own family was infuriating. It was an insult, seeing how his son had been shaped into the perfect little soldier, just as he himself once was. Yet Bulma remained confident in her ability to fix the boy’s mind, to make him come back to them, and while he had his doubts with the effect that mask had on Kakarot’s brat, she assured him she knew what she was doing. She wouldn’t fail next time, she told him. So he trusted her, as he usually did. When his wife put her brilliant mind to something, she rarely failed.

But Bulla…

She hadn’t held anything back when she told him about her own experiences. She’d been brutally blunt with her description of what Frieza had done to her, what he’d put her through nearly every day of her adult life. While he himself had never done those things, not for moral reasons but out of the simple truth that he was above _that,_ Vegeta was not ignorant to Frieza’s proclivity for abuse towards the weaker species they’d conquered in the past. He had the sickening misfortune of knowing everything she was telling him before she’d even said it.

The words trapped themselves somewhere inside him, and those shadows he’d thought long gone came crawling back, clawing at the edges of his mind. Yet at the same time, he suspected she’d chosen her words deliberately, with specific intention and not as a daughter confiding in her father the pain she carried. No, she knew exactly what she was doing. She had learned her tricks from Frieza, he’d realized bitterly.

Bulla wanted him to kill Gohan for her, to take revenge for his part in causing her pain. In another life, he might have done just that without a second thought. A part of him itched to do so, had even seen the opportunity to when Gohan woke and they fought. But things were different — _he_ was different. And was Kakarot’s boy any different from his own now? Used against his will by their enemy? 

It came as no surprise that when her manipulation didn’t work, she resented him too. Only, Vegeta was not as soft as his wife. He denied their daughter the satisfaction of her resentment affecting him. The girl would get over his refusal, or she wouldn’t. Either way, if she wanted revenge, she was going to have to get it for herself. He would take her anger and her hatred and use it to make her a warrior, just as he’d done to himself. She could resent them all she wanted — but he _would_ make her stronger.

 

Mushroom City had been a colossal waste of time in his eyes. Most of what they’d been doing the last few weeks had been, frankly. If not for Bulla’s training, Vegeta might have taken matters into his own hands by now, especially once it became clear that Bulma’s experiment with Gohan hadn’t worked the way she expected. The fact that there were Saiyans out there bearing that all too familiar insignia hadn’t left his mind since he first laid eyes on them. It still didn’t make sense to him why Frieza would have brought them here if he didn’t have some kind of plan for them. But with Frieza gone and Kakarot with him…

They were still in Mushroom City when he thought he felt something odd — like a familiar ki. It was faint, distant enough to make him second guess whether or not he’d actually felt anything at all. But as they moved further east, the feeling never left. They stopped somewhere in the desert and after only an hour, it seemed to be growing strong. It came from the west as if it was trailing just a little behind, and Vegeta was more certain of its existence. 

He stood on the sandstone arch above, glaring at nothing. It was difficult to tell when the bearer of that ki would reach them, and he had half a mind to go meet it head-on. One look down at his wife and daughter, though, and he’d pushed the thought away. Goten and Krillin were strong, but they’d never faced an army of Saiyans before, and Bulla was certainly nowhere near ready for a real fight herself. 

He’d glanced away for a second when the sound of her laughter caught his attention and looked back down to scowl at them. Goten and Bulla had been training a moment ago, poorly and completely uninspired, but now they were on the ground with Goten practically _lying_ on top of Bulla while the pair giggled like idiots. A primitive part of his brain lit up almost immediately before he shoved it down. She wasn’t the baby he’d last seen before he went into the time chamber, he reminded himself, though anger still curled in the pit of his gut at the sight. _Damn children._

Vegeta put them to work quickly enough, made them train until it was clear they were both too exhausted to do much else. The sky had gone completely black within the hour, and the pair struggled to see what they were doing in the darkness. Under normal circumstances, he might have forced them to train through their tiredness and he was about to make them do just that, but Bulma interrupted him. They were both asleep the moment they hit their bedrolls.

“You should go easier on her,” Bulma said, closing the door behind her. They had the camper tonight, though Vegeta had no intention of staying once she’d gone to sleep. He snorted at her comment and leaned against the wall beside the door.

“She’s a Saiyan,” he said. “Trunks was far younger when he started.”

Bulma crossed the room and shrugged off her jacket, dropping it on the small fold-out table. “She’s _half-_ Saiyan, just like Trunks. And she’s never trained before in her life. But it’s not just that...it’s everything else.” Words that neither of them wanted to say hung between them, and a frown pulled at her lips. “I’m worried about her. She reminds me of—”

Vegeta knew what she was going to say, even if she stopped short and pursed her lips together tightly. She’d said so before, but it had been in a more light-hearted manner at the time. Now, after so many weeks of getting to know their daughter better, or at least trying to, the comment had taken a different meaning. He did indeed see himself in her, maybe too much, if he was honest. Frieza had made sure of it. Sharpening that blade was a gamble, he knew, and perhaps Bulma was right to be worried.

“She’s a Saiyan,” he repeated. “She needs this.”

Vegeta laid in bed with Bulma and listened to her gentle breathing while she slept. For his part, he was too restless to sleep, his mind too full of incomplete memories. Finally, his restlessness won out and he pried himself away from his wife’s arms so that he could train. However, as the morning sun crept across the sky, he realized that the ki had suddenly gone. Not just that, but that morning saw yet another delay in their traveling plans. The damnable vehicle wouldn’t start, and Bulma spent most of her time cursing under her breath as she tore its insides apart. No matter what he said, the woman would _not_ consider abandoning it.

“It’s safe,” she’d snapped at him. “We don’t have any other capsules and flying will draw too much attention. You’re just gonna have to suck it up, _dear_.”

By the time they were able to set out again, Vegeta’s mood had soured considerably. It was well into the afternoon and the desert heat bore down on them like a heavy blanket. According to Bulma, it would only be one more day until they were on Fire Mountain, but Vegeta sincerely doubted they’d make it before the dark slowed them down again.

This was the last trip they’d be making, he decided. Whether or not the boy’s mother was there was no concern to him — he’d remain there as long as it took to teach Bulla to use her ki, and then they’d move on without the camper. It broke down two more times before the day was through, and Bulma had to stand in front of it and yell him down to keep him from blasting the damn thing into oblivion.

The sky had turned orange as the sun began to set. Mountains that were once off in the distance were closer now more than ever, and the desert slowly became lush with green grass and trees.

“We’re close,” Goten’s voice came from behind him. Vegeta glanced over his shoulder at the boy for only a second before returning his attention to the road ahead. “I’ve only been here a few times before, but granddad talked about it a lot.” Vegeta said nothing. Why Goten was talking to him at all was unknown, but it was starting to grate on his nerves. “Sure hope it’s not covered in flames. Granddad used to say it had a habit of doing that, but I can’t be sure if he was kidding, or—”

“Are you bored?” Vegeta said irritably. “If you’re bored, we can train. Otherwise, go away.”

Goten remained quiet for a moment, and Vegeta expected him to leave soon enough. Instead, he heard him chuckle. “That actually sounds like fun!”

 _Fun._ The damn kid never took anything seriously, just like his father. Vegeta turned to say something to that effect, yet the moment he did he felt a sharpness shoot through him. In an instant, he spun around to deflect a ki blast. Bulma slammed on the brakes and the camper jerked to a skidding halt, turning off the road as it did. Booming laughter rang out above them, and Vegeta had to do a double-take to grasp exactly what his eyes were seeing.

“Long time no see, boss!”

“ _Nappa?_ ” Vegeta spat, though he could hardly believe it. But it looked like Nappa alright; massive, bald, ugly Nappa. “Is this a joke?”

“Here I thought you’d be harder to find!” said Nappa. “Kid’s got a real keen sense for you though.”

“Who—” but Goten’s sudden yelp drew his attention, and he turned to see the young man collapse through the makeshift cloth roof. Behind him was a figure in black, wearing the same featureless mask that Gohan had been wearing. It wasn’t Gohan, though. He knew that ki too well.

_Trunks._

“Nappa,” he growled, gritting his teeth. Control was just barely in his grasp, and slipping quickly the longer he looked at Trunks. He turned back to Nappa instead. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

“We’re here to bring you back, boss,” Nappa said, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Back where? ” Vegeta snapped. His patience was near enough gone, and having Trunks right behind him wearing that stupid mask left him far more guarded than he was before.

He crossed his massive arms over his chest and gave a wide smirk. “I really wasn’t expecting to see you alive again,” Nappa said, ignoring Vegeta’s question. “Thought Lord Frieza took care of you a long time ago. Guess that was just from _our_ world. But here you are! With a couple of half-breed brats too. Really surprised the king when he heard about that one.”

Vegeta paled at that, though he did his best to mask it with a deep scowl. Frieza killing him in another world, or wherever this Nappa and the Saiyans were from, made perfect sense to Vegeta in a morbid sort of way. Frieza had certainly been sure to brag about how many ‘other Vegetas’ he’d killed when they fought at his ship. Yet it had never occurred to him that in all those worlds or universes or _whatever_ , that his father would have been spared in a single one of them. It made no sense. It wasn’t possible.

“The king,” he said flatly, then let out a bark of laughter. “Do you really think I’m an idiot? If you were the real Nappa, you’d know better than to try and feed me that garbage. You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Come see for yourself.”

“Vegeta!” _Damn it._ He looked down to see Bulma standing next to the camper with Krillin at her side. _Stubborn woman. Why couldn’t she have stayed inside?_

“Whoa! Is that—” Krillin began but was interrupted by Nappa’s bark-like laughter. He’d caught the way Vegeta had looked down at Bulma and his smirk was one that the prince wasn’t especially fond of. “That her? _Your_ woman? Heh. She looks pretty old.”

“What?!” Bulma yelled, instantly outraged. “Just who do you think you are, talking about me like that?!” Vegeta had no doubt that if she were able to she would have tried to punch Nappa herself, little good that it would do her.

“Bulma,” he said, interrupting her tirade. “Get back inside.” Little good that would do _him,_ he knew. He’d hoped that for once she’d just do what he asked, that she’d know he meant for her to go to Bulla. He could only hope she wouldn’t realize their son was right there. Just as he expected, she only crossed her arms and scowled at him. 

“Who is this guy, Vegeta?!” she demanded.

“You mean you haven’t told her about me?” Nappa said, faking the hurt in his voice. “Here I thought we were friends!”

“I killed Nappa a long time ago,” Vegeta said, his voice hardening. “I don’t make it a habit to talk about dead things.”

“That’s right!” Krillin yelled. “I was there, I saw him do it! And just think, he’s a whole lot stronger now than he was back then!” Vegeta wasn’t sure he wanted or needed Krillin’s input, but it certainly had an effect. It seemed to strike a nerve, and Nappa’s amused demeanor melted into one of disbelief before it turned to anger.

“Did you now? Well, you won’t be doing that again, I can promise you that.” Nappa clenched his fists and puffed up his chest, very nearly taking on the appearance of a proud gorilla. Vegeta noted that he still had his tail, and it was getting darker by the minute. They wouldn’t have much time.

“Leave now or that’s exactly what I’ll do,” the Saiyan prince doubled down. “Tell this so-called _king_ of yours that I have no interest in playing pretend. This is your only chance. Trust me, putting you in your grave a second time would be my pleasure.”

“Can’t do that, _Your Highness_ ,” Nappa said, sneering. “We’ve got orders from your king father. You’re coming with us.”

Vegeta had expected that to be his answer. It was the very reason he didn’t wait for the words to settle before he made his move, vanishing so that he would reappear behind Nappa. He was quick and brutal with his strike, hitting the larger man squarely in the center of his spine. A fitting attack, he thought. His spine was his undoing the first time after all. Nappa yelled out but spun around to face Vegeta all the same, and the pair traded blows in rapid succession.

Krillin joined the fight soon after, and the two worked to wear Nappa down. At one point, Krillin found himself with a face full of fist and went down for the count, leaving only Vegeta to fight against the other Saiyan. All the while Trunks remained where he was, still and silent.

“Why are you being so difficult?” Nappa complained loudly, swiping at nothing as Vegeta dodged out of the way. “Your father just wants a few words with you!”

“ _My father_ is dead,” Vegeta said. There was no truth to what Nappa was saying, he knew. This was some kind of game that Vegeta wouldn’t be playing. “I gave you a choice, Nappa!”

“You’re not killing me, boss!”

“You think I won’t?”

The years had certainly been kind to Nappa, it seemed. His skill had grown considerably, though it was clear he wasn’t quite at Vegeta’s level just yet. All it would take was one transformation into super Saiyan blue and the fight would be over, Vegeta knew that. He didn’t act fast enough; Nappa seemed to know he was losing the fight, and he leaped back a few feet and let out another laugh.

“It’s just like I said: you’re not gonna kill me. Not today! Hey, kid! Time to get the prince home!”

Immediately, Trunks appeared in-between them and Vegeta clenched his jaw tightly in frustration. “Face your death like a real Saiyan, Nappa, instead of hiding behind puppets.”

“I thought about bringing a few Saibamen, but the king was really interested in this one,” Nappa said with a smirk plastered on his face. “We went out of our way to get him ourselves and take a look at what you made here.”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Vegeta barked.

Nappa ignored him. “Gotta say, never thought a half-breed would be that strong, but the kid’s got a lot of you in him!”

Vegeta heard Bulma’s sharp gasp even from where he was above her. The sound was enough to set his blood on fire and he glared at Nappa, who only threw his head back in laughter. He likely didn’t know what he had just done, not really. But if Vegeta had any pretenses of holding back or giving his former comrade any leeway, they vanished in that instant. He was going to kill him, and he’d enjoy it just as much as he had the first time. First, though, he had to get through Trunks. 

Nappa stopped his laughing when Vegeta’s hair turned blue and the power rushed off of him in an instant. He moved with intention, his every action deliberately made with one goal in mind — take Trunks out quickly. The faster the boy was incapacitated, the sooner he could take out the other Saiyan. Then whoever this ‘king’ was would take him seriously, and rue the day he thought to use Vegeta’s own son against him.

But that damn _mask_ did something to Trunks. He was much faster than he’d ever been before, even without a Super Saiyan transformation. His movements were far more fluid and calculated than Trunks’ instinct-driven style. At times it seemed as though he was fighting a mirror, like Trunks knew his next action before he’d taken it. He might have been impressed if he didn’t know it was coming from that _thing_ on his son’s face.

Yet for all of Trunks’ enhanced ability, Vegeta was quick to adapt; he was the superior fighter, and in this form, there was simply no chance the boy had of winning, despite his best efforts. In one quick motion, Vegeta struck Trunks from behind and sent the younger rushing down to meet the ground. He himself was quick to land in front of Bulma to keep her from rushing to Trunks’ side, his arm blocking her path.

“Not yet,” he said, his eyes locked onto the small crater from the impact. The dust hadn’t settled and Vegeta couldn’t feel Trunks’ ki.

“Vegeta, remember how bad Gohan’s injuries were,” she said, voice just above a whisper. “Just don’t—”

She was interrupted by Vegeta spinning around to grab her and quickly move her out of the way of the incoming strike. But he saw an opportunity there, and took hold of Trunks’ arm and yanked him closer, Vegeta’s fist coming in fast to hit against the front of the mask. He both felt and heard the crack, and tried not to imagine how those tiny needle-like pieces that lined the inside likely pressed into Trunks’ face. If he was in pain, the boy made no immediate indication, though he stumbled back a couple of steps after a moment.

“Trunks, _stop!_ Don’t do this!” Bulma said though she kept her distance all the same. “Come on, you’re tough! Fight that thing!”

“Hey, kid! Orders are orders! Hurry it up!” Nappa yelled from above. Vegeta’s eyes never left Trunks, and for a moment, the boy went still. At first, it seemed as though he was simply standing there. Nappa yelled once more and Trunks did nothing. Then, all of a sudden, he was moving again. He kicked the prince hard in the ribs, and while it didn’t do much to hurt him, Vegeta released Trunks on instinct, expecting another blow.

Only it never came — Trunks vanished along with his ki. A crash came from the camper a second later, and Vegeta wheeled around to see a dazed Goten struggling to his hands and knees. Trunks came out just as Vegeta started to move, dragging Bulla by her arm. She was struggling against him, striking the hand he held her with repeatedly but to no avail. There was panic in her eyes as Trunks came to a stop in front of Goten and held his free hand out toward him. He turned his head so that he was facing Vegeta, soundless and motionless even as Bulla fought him. 

“Oh _ho!_ I like where your head’s at, kid!” Nappa boasted. “Tell you what, Vegeta — if you don’t come with us, we’ll kill the boy and take the girl. Or...we can just kill them both.” As if to emphasize his point, Trunks pulled Bulla close enough to swiftly slam his knee into her stomach, knocking the wind out of her and causing her to go lax in his grip as she struggled for air.

 _Damn it, Nappa,_ Vegeta thought as he glared angrily at Trunks. The crack in the mask was a line right down the middle, wide enough that Vegeta could just make out a hint of skin beneath and nothing more. He’d hoped it might have done something, but that hope was clearly wasted. And now, his options were severely limited.

Vegeta was fast, but he knew he wasn’t fast enough to grab both Goten and Bulla _and_ incapacitate Trunks while fending off Nappa. With Krillin out and Goten barely conscious, Vegeta shot a quick glance to Bulma. She was staring wide-eyed with horror at the sight before her, and when her eyes met his, he reluctantly allowed himself to power down.

“Fine, Nappa,” Vegeta barked. “I’ll play your stupid game. Let her go, _Trunks_.”

“I knew you’d come around,” said Nappa. “You heard him — drop her and let’s go, kid!” On cue, Trunks released Bulla and she crumpled to the ground, hugging her middle tightly. Bulma rushed to her side as Trunks walked toward Vegeta, who met his faceless son with a glare. “Oh, and Vegeta? If you try anything before we get there, the kid dies. Call it a failsafe,” Nappa added.

“The only one dying will be _you_ , Nappa, I promise you that,” Vegeta said, anger clear in his voice. At the very least, he’d be able to see this so-called king for himself and show him what true Saiyan royalty was.

“Wait...” Bulma began shakily. But her eyes found Trunks and she steeled herself, a scowl crossing her features as she turned her attention up to Nappa. “Listen up, you ugly brute! If anything happens to my boys, I’ll make you pay. And Vegeta?” He looked to her and she gave him a determined nod. “Kick their sorry asses.”


	31. Elastic Heart

Her stomach was still sore when she woke up. Bulla had only slept for maybe an hour or two, and she was still utterly exhausted, but she was in too much pain to rest any longer. She winced as she sat up, her sight adjusting to the morning light. Goten was lying in the bedroll near her, his eyes shut tightly even as he slept.

The faceless man had come back. But not, at the same time. _Trunks_. It was Trunks under that mask — she heard Vegeta say as much, and the faceless man _she_ knew didn’t have lavender hair. Still, the knowledge that he was her brother brought her no comfort. If anything, it was worse. Regardless of who was beneath it, she knew what the mask meant: he was as much her brother as the faceless man before him, and he’d do the same terrible things to her if commanded. The thought made her feel strangely cold, and she rubbed her arms against the shiver that went through her. 

Her eyes went back to the man sleeping by her. In his efforts to reach her, Trunks had done a number on Goten. He’d barely been able to stand from the first blow, and yet he’d still tried to defend her when she completely froze at the sight of that mask. She couldn’t even react when Goten had been tossed aside. After everything she’d learned in her training, after the weeks Goten and Vegeta spent teaching her, she was useless when it mattered most. Even when she did try to fight back, she’d been too _weak_ to do anything. None of her hits seemed to faze him in the slightest, and because of her, Vegeta was gone.

Goten gave a low groaning noise in his sleep and she realized she’d been staring blankly at him. She looked around for...for something or someone. Krillin’s bedroll was empty and she didn’t see Bulma anywhere, and for a minute she grew angry at the thought that maybe they left too. She got to her feet with some effort, her hand going to her middle automatically though she flinched at her own touch. Bulla had just grabbed the door handle of the camper when she heard Bulma’s voice, muffled but distinguishable enough.

“—knows what he’s doing. He’ll be back soon enough. Just stick it out a little longer and—”

“You know I don’t have that kind of time, Bulma,” Krillin’s voice sounded strained, but not unkind. “I’ve gotta get back to South City. She’s waiting for me and you know we won’t have another opportunity like this.”

“We _need_ you, Krillin. Without Vegeta, I don’t know if Goten will be enough to...” Bulma’s voice trailed out, and Bulla leaned closer to the door to try and hear her better. It didn’t work. She only heard the beginnings of Krillin’s laugh.

“I don’t know how much help I really am anymore, Bulma. You saw me out there last night against...” There was quiet and then he continued. “Listen, I’ll stay until we get to Fire Mountain, but then I gotta go. I can’t keep putting this off.”

Bulla heard movement and quickly stepped back a few paces just in time for Bulma to open the door and pause when she saw her. “Oh, you’re up! How’re you feeling? Your stomach okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, but she willed her back to straighten and squared her shoulders. “Goten’s...he made a noise.”

“What kind of noise?” 

“I don’t know. The in pain kind?” Bulla did _try_ not to snap that time, and barely managed.

Bulma didn’t seem to notice. She nodded then turned to retrieve the little first aid kit. “I’m sure he’ll be alright,” she said as she walked by. Bulla followed after her. “I think at worst he might have a mild concussion, but the Sons walk those off like they’re nothing.” Bulma eased him awake to give him another painkiller and check on the welt forming where his skull met his neck. He groaned at her and protested lightly, but seemed far too tired to put up much of a fight. The moment his head touched the pillow again he was out.

“See? Nothing too serious. He probably just has a really nasty headache, that’s all!” Bulma said, offering Bulla what was sure to be a reassuring smile.

It did nothing for her mood. Bulla bit the inside of her mouth. The faceless— _Trunks,_  she reminded herself, had been merciless when he beat Goten. He had been training his whole life, had seen far more fights than she likely ever would, and yet he was still bested so quickly, like none of it even mattered. What chance did _she_ have?

No. She decided to push the thought away. She would not be made to feel even weaker.

Fortunately, it seemed as though his injuries weren’t as terrible as she thought. An hour later and he was back on his feet, seeming more embarrassed than anything. The rest of the morning was spent fixing up what they could of the camper, with Bulma doing the bulk of the work. Bulla had avoided everyone then, keeping to herself as she did her part. Occasionally she glanced over at Krillin and wondered just who he was going to meet in South City, but truth be told she was having a difficult time focusing on one thing at a time.

The reality of her own weakness was eating at her, to the point where she stubbornly avoided the pain that radiated from her gut. At times she would bend to lift something and it would feel like the wind had been kicked out of her all over again, and still, she forced herself to work through it. When it was finally time to leave, she sat herself down gingerly on the partially ruined bench, utterly miserable. Naturally, she refused to show it even when Goten sat down beside her and the slightest movement made her entire body tense.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, perhaps a bit more briskly than was needed. But he didn’t seem fazed by her tone and pressed on.

“Well, Vegeta leaving and...and if that was really Trunks...”

Bulla wrinkled her nose and shook her head, folding her arms under her chest before quickly adjusting them so they were higher up. The ache in her stomach was difficult to ignore, yet she remained determined to do so anyway.

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” she said, intent on leaving it at that. In truth, she didn’t really _know_ how she felt, if she felt anything at all. Trunks was her brother only in the most technical sense now, because she knew that mask would ensure whatever ties they might have meant nothing anymore. And Vegeta was useful enough to be sure, but that was about it, wasn’t it? His role as her father began and ended with the acknowledgment that he helped give her life. Training her was the least he could do to make up for his absence.

Yet even as Bulla’s mind wove these thoughts together, it was hard to deny that she felt a bit lonelier than she had before. The feeling only frustrated her further, and she stewed in silence. Goten left her alone to her thoughts, though she could tell he was watching her from the corner of his eye. If she had been so inclined she might have argued with him over it, but the lack of sleep caught up with her faster than she expected. Before long her eyes felt so heavy that she could hardly keep them open, and she drifted off restlessly as she fought to stay awake.

She dreamed of West City. It had its own sound, its own scent, its own everything buried deep inside of her. It was the only city she knew — at least, the only city she hadn’t seen in ruins. People lined the streets every day, going about their lives as normal people do. She was always so high above them, always so far removed. She couldn’t remember a time when she was close enough to see them clearly. But they loved her regardless. She was their princess, even if they didn’t realize what a mockery the title really was. They showered her with cheers and love every time she made an appearance. And she...well, she hated them. She always had. She always would.

She dreamed of Marron next. Of soft skin and gentle kisses, the only source of real affection she was ever permitted. Long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and that beautiful, reassuring smile. Marron was the only one that mattered to her for so long, the only person she would ever cry for. Marron was mother, sister, lover, friend, all of those things at once. For as far back as she could remember, it was just them. Just them against everyone.

When she dreamed of Frieza, she dreamed of suffering. It wasn’t always her own; sometimes, it was someone else. Men, women, aliens, humans — it rarely mattered. They always died the same way. This time it was Yamcha. He didn’t beg, though. He just looked at her with that strange expression on his face, the same one he always looked at her with when he thought she wasn’t looking. When he died, he died staring at her, and Frieza’s laughter drowned out the words he was desperately trying to say to her.

Bulla wasn’t sure when she opened her eyes. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether or not she was still dreaming, but she rarely dreamed of places she’d never been. The sight in front of her was one she’d never seen before, with blackened dirt and ashen trees. It was so gray that it was hard for her to tell if it was night or day here. She blinked away the slumber and turned her head to see Goten looking out the same window with a peaceful look on his face.

“This is Fire Mountain,” he said, though he didn’t look her way. “Sure is a lot different than what I expected.”

With all of the holes in the camper, Bulla could practically taste the soot and ash in the air, as if the place was still burning. They passed by what seemed like miles of dead fields, and a wide steaming river. Goten moved to the other side of the camper to look out the other window, squinting as though he was searching for something particular. Bulla watched him curiously as he whipped his head back around to face her, a wide smile dancing across his face.

“I was right!” he said excitedly. “They’re all here!”

Bulla turned to look out the window beside her and jumped when she saw the rows of small capsule homes and tents. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, hidden by ruined trees and old buildings. People were starting to come into view, staring at the camper as it passed, their face covered in the same ash and grime that clung to the earth here.

“I thought you were just looking for your mother,” she said warily. The vehicle slowed to a stop, and Bulla remained seated even as Goten sprang to his feet and headed for the door.

“We are! She’s definitely here,” he said, then paused and looked back at her. “You coming?”

Her eyes trailed out the window at the groups of people huddling nearby, every one of them staring at the camper with distrust, as though they expected Frieza’s soldiers to burst out at any moment. Goten waited for her at the door and she exited the camper first and was immediately met with angry stares and hushed whispers. It was definitely a far cry from the adoring looks she was given in West City.

But the moment Goten stepped out, the chill in the air vanished instantly. Nearly every face went from spiteful to relieved in a matter of seconds. A few of them called out his name as he got closer, and one tall man with bright orange hair pushed through the crowd to grab him in a massive bear hug. He looked oddly familiar to her, in a way that she had trouble placing, but his booming voice tore her from her thoughts.

“Where the hell have you been?!” the man yelled, though he didn’t allow the opportunity for an answer. “Doesn’t matter! Hug me before your mom comes to skin you alive!” Goten laughed at that, perhaps a bit nervously, but returned the hug all the same.

They loved him, Bulla realized, in a way that she didn’t really understand. It was like he had known every one of them all his life. She folded her arms beneath her chest lightly, the previous pains from her stomach now just a dull ache, and watched as they welcomed Krillin with the same joy. Bulma joined her at her side a moment later and leaned closer to Bulla, ready to irritate her with whatever she was about to say before she was interrupted by a shrill yell.

“ _GOTEN!_ ” An older woman with black hair was practically shoving people out of the way to get to Goten, and Bulla saw the way the orange-haired man backed away hastily. The woman threw her arms around him and began a tirade of tears and yells. “How could you do that to me?!” She was scolding him now, and when she turned on Krillin her fury was plainer to see. “And _you!_ How dare you run off with my son without telling me where you were going?! You should know better! You both should!”

“C-come on, Chi-Chi,” said a slightly cowering Krillin. “We didn’t mean to be gone so long, honest! Everything just got out of control!” The woman — Chi-Chi — let out an incredulous huff and placed her hands on her hips, looking around briefly before she made her next demand.

“Well, I hope Seeda has a better explanation than either of you! Where is she?”

At that, Bulla saw Goten’s face tighten and Krillin frowned deeply. Neither said anything, but it didn’t seem like they needed to. When Chi-Chi returned her attention to Goten, he shook his head and opened his mouth, though words seemed to catch somewhere in his throat. Her face and demeanor softened considerably, and Bulla noticed how a few of the others nearby bowed their heads and murmured amongst themselves.

“Oh...oh, I see...” Chi-Chi said. Everything went quiet for a long pause before Chi-Chi turned and seemed to become abruptly aware that Bulma and Bulla were standing nearby. Bulla kept her expression neutral as her mother gave an awkward wave and stepped forward.

“Hi, Chi-Chi!” Bulma said, breaking through the sorrow. She sounded like she’d been holding her breath. “It’s been a really long time, huh?”

Chi-Chi appeared nearly as annoyed with Bulma as Bulla usually felt. “Hmph! And I suppose I have you to thank for all this trouble?” she snapped.

“Uh, actually mom, she really saved our skins back there,” Goten interjected a bit too sheepishly. “Without her and Vegeta, we wouldn’t have made it here.”

“Wait, _Vegeta_?” Chi-Chi said, turning her head to look at Goten so quickly that Bulla was shocked she didn’t snap her own neck. “You mean...he’s alive?”

“Yeah...there’s probably a lot we should talk about,” Goten said, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his head and wincing. Bulla knew he must have touched his bruise. Chi-Chi looked as if she thought he might have been lying, or maybe just talking crazy, but nodded. Then, as abruptly as she’d noticed Bulma, her eyes turned on Bulla and she looked her up and down. 

Bulla was used to being examined, though she couldn’t say she really enjoyed it. She raised her chin and straightened her back, but forced as pleasant a smile as she could muster at that moment. “Hello. I’m—”

Chi-Chi cut her off, her arms crossing over her chest as she did. “I know who you are,” she said, not unkindly but more curtly than Bulla expected. Her smile faded as Chi-Chi whirled around to face Goten, who was deep in conversation with the orange-haired man again. “No use standing around here! You’re all filthy. And when’s the last time any of you ate anyway? Don’t think I’m finished with you yet, Goten, you’re still in big trouble.”

Goten laughed, again as nervously as he had before, and glanced up to catch Bulla’s gaze over the orange-haired man's shoulder. The way he looked at her was as if he’d momentarily forgotten she was there at all, and she felt her cheeks heat up at that. _All of these people mean something to him,_ she reminded herself. She hadn’t seen him smile so much as he did now that he was here. They offered him comfort, where she was probably no more than a reminder of the things he lost. Even as he made a move toward her, the same orange man stepped up and threw an arm over his shoulder, loudly distracting him with all the things he seemed to have missed.

When they finally left the camper and people returned to what they were doing before, Goten walked ahead with Chi-Chi at his side, Krillin and Bulma were not far back. Bulla trailed behind, her arms crossed so tightly that she was practically hugging herself. As she walked, she caught the occasional glare directed at her and Bulma, and the man with orange hair seemed to take a particular interest in making his suspicion known to her. Did they somehow know she was from the city? Did they see right through the cheap hair dye and new clothes?

Either way, Bulla met their glares with her own, unwilling to let them believe their eyes had any effect on her. Let them find out just how much she could hate them right back if that was what they really wanted.

An hour later, they had joined Chi-Chi and Goten in their capsule house to eat dinner. Bulla was mildly impressed with the amount of food his mother prepared so quickly, and the four ate in relative quiet. Bulma made a few attempts at conversation, but for whatever reason, Chi-Chi seemed determined to give her the cold shoulder. In one of her more blatant efforts, she turned to Bulla and interrupted Bulma to speak to her.

“You shouldn’t tell anyone who you are or where you’re from,” she said. “A lot of the villagers here are from down the mountain, though there are a few former city people too. There’s no telling who’d be willing to sell you back to Frieza for the right price, even if they do it  _accidentally._ ”

“Mom,” Goten began to protest, but she waved him off. Bulla caught the way Bulma’s lips thinned as Chi-Chi raised her chin defiantly.

“There’s no use trying to pretend otherwise!” she said. “You’ll be leaving soon anyway, right? I’m just giving you some advice that we could’ve used ourselves once.”

“We don’t have anywhere we can go,” Bulma spoke up. “Without Vegeta—”

“You’re not _really_ thinking of putting my Goten in more danger, are you?” Chi-Chi’s tone was as sharp as a knife. “Because I think you’ve done plenty of that.”

“Hey, wait—” Goten tried to interject, but he was shouted over by Bulma.

“You know I never meant to put anyone in danger! I had no idea they were waiting for me to leave just so they could find you!” Bulma yelled, suddenly talking about something entirely different than what Bulla understood of the conversation. She shifted where she sat, hoping to remain as uninvolved as possible until Chi-Chi pointed right at her.

“Bringing _her_ here puts everyone at risk and you know it!” she said, accusingly. Bulla couldn't say she necessarily disagreed with the notion. She was well aware that as much as Almone hated her, she was far too valuable to Frieza to simply forget about, and Chi-Chi was right that her presence likely made everyone here a target. Even if Frieza was truly defeated, Bulla doubted anyone would forget about her.

Where she didn’t really react to the comment, Goten seemed to bristle and opened his mouth to say something before he was interrupted. Bulma took greater offense and slammed both of her hands down on the table to raise herself up so that she was in Chi-Chi’s face. “You leave her out of this! That is totally unfair!”

“Mom, Bulma, come on—” Goten’s pleas fell on deaf ears as the pair fell into a screaming match, each one getting progressively more and more heated. He shot Bulla an apologetic look and pointed silently at the door behind her with a nod. They slipped out while their mothers battled, and the moment the door shut behind them Goten let out a deep sigh.

“So much for a quiet dinner,” he said. “Sorry about that, she’s just...she’s really protective. She doesn’t hate you or anything.”

 _Are you sure about that?_ Bulla wanted to ask, but she shrugged instead. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did. She isn’t wrong, you know. About me being here.”

“She is though,” Goten said firmly. Bulla’s eyebrows went up in surprise at how resolute he seemed. “It’s not your fault, it’s Frieza’s and she knows it. Even if you weren’t here, he’d be hunting us still.” He sighed again and pushed his hair back with his fingers, then shook his head and smiled at her. “You know what? Let’s go for a walk!”

Bulla motioned back to the house. “Are you sure she won’t get mad?” 

“Probably, but it’ll be okay,” he said. They walked down the main path away from Chi-Chi’s house to where most of the villagers seemed to be congregated. It occurred to her just by looking at how haphazardly things had been set up that they must not have been here very long.

As they went, Goten told her about some of the people they passed, told her of the struggles they faced fighting off Frieza’s Forces. Bulla listened, but she found it difficult to feel much sympathy for the people who smiled so warmly at Goten while casting a distrustful glance at her. Occasionally she would hear the name Seeda in hushed tones, though Goten didn’t seem to himself. 

Eventually, they came to the other end of the village where the path turned into a small hill. From the top, they could see miles of torched trees and white ash still clinging to the ground, but in the distance, there were patches of green peeking through. They both settled onto the ground below them and sat there in silence for a long while. 

Bulla tried not to, but her mind went to the whispers and the glares the villagers seemed so fond of giving her and anger boiled in the pit of her stomach. She realized that there was resentment in their eyes as well as soon as she heard them say the dead woman’s name, and she wondered if they believed her responsible. It hardly seemed fair either way. So lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed how close they were until she felt his arm brush against her shoulder. Bulla shifted away on instinct but found she didn’t really _want_ to move too far.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he abruptly said, sounding uncertain. She gave him a nod. “Are you sure you’re alright? I mean, I know what it’s like, with your dad leaving and your brother...it’s just that we’re in pretty much the same situation, and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

Bulla considered him for a moment before she spoke. “It’s not the same,” she said, knowing he would be disappointed with her answer. “I was never close to Trunks, and I still don’t know Vegeta very well.” _They could die tomorrow and I probably wouldn’t notice,_ she thought, and quite nearly believed it herself. Saying so would only upset him, though. “It doesn’t really matter to me either way.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “No offense, but I don’t believe that.” A frown crossed her lips and she opened her mouth to argue, but he continued before she could. “It’s okay, though. I get it.”

 _Get what?_ she wanted to ask. Instead, she scowled at him, incensed at just how casually he’d dismissed what she said. He didn’t ‘get it’ — he couldn’t possibly ‘get’ anything she felt or meant, especially when she wasn’t even sure herself. Who was he to decide what he believed or not with her and her feelings? Even more irritating was that she wasn’t even sure why it bothered her so much. She wasn’t equipped to deal with the boiling anger in her chest, and she jumped to her feet.

“Spar with me,” she demanded. He looked up at her in surprise. “Come on! Get up and spar with me. For real this time.”

“Bulla, I don’t think that’s a—”

“I didn’t ask you to talk,” she snapped. He eyed her a moment before he slowly stood. Goten made like he was about to speak again, but Bulla shoved him back and moved to kick him. He was faster than her, jumping back and smacking her foot away. Whenever she went to strike him again, he jumped back or blocked her. They moved further into the trees off the path, and Bulla grew more irate the longer he put off even trying to hit her back. It only made her mad. 

Bulla put everything into every hit, every kick, every yell, and it showed. Goten was certainly more experienced, but she could tell she was wearing him down after a few minutes. Finally, after she’d brought her knee so hard into his chest that it staggered him backward into a tree, he seemed to have had enough. It surprised her when he swung his leg around to catch her in the side, the force of which knocked her to the side. Still, it satisfied some unknown thing in her when he started fighting back. 

They traded blows back and forth for only a short time. It made sense that Goten was the better fighter, considering how many years of experience he had under him, even if he was holding back. It didn’t mean she was going to accept defeat so easily, especially when he had both of her wrists in one hand and twisted her around so fast she stumbled to the ground. Before she knew it, they were wrestling on the ground. He was stronger than her by far, but she was just a bit quicker and far less controlled; she wrenched free and rolled the both of them over so that she was sitting on his stomach with her arm pinned down over his neck. He could have easily countered — he could have pushed her off or hit her or any number of things. He did none of them. It should have annoyed her more, yet it didn’t.

She sat there looking down at him as their chests heaved with heavy breaths. They were both covered in dirt. His shirt was ripped at the collar from where she’d grabbed him earlier. She knew her hair was a mess and her own white shirt was sure to be stained. Sweat was beginning to bead on both their faces, and neither made to move from where they were. Whatever anger she had when they started their sparring had mostly dissipated. Now she was just a bit tired, but she also felt relieved, like an itch had been scratched. Bulla kept her eyes on Goten’s face for a long moment, and she thought of what she might have wanted to say. No words came to mind, though. Instead, in a move driven only by impulse, she leaned down and kissed him.


	32. To Fathers and Their Sons

Orders are orders. Orders are orders are orders. The words repeated. Over and over, again and again. Find the prince — he did — bring him back — he did. He fulfilled his orders. They returned and the order givers had nothing then. His face ached. His bones ached. Something in his chest ached. He heard it again. _Leave me alone!_ She’d been so scared. For good reason. He would have killed her if he had to. Had to? Yes, had to. But the prince complied. That was good.

Good. What did he care? What did he know?

The thing on his face...kami, it hurt. No one noticed. His mind felt odd. In that, he could feel it again. Like a phantom limb grown back. Foggy and heavy and full. The whispers were there, yes. Still loud, yes. But they didn’t drown him. Orders are orders. Over and over, again and again. Yet there was something else, too — something Other. It came with the breaking, with the blood that filled one eye. It dizzied him. He was still dizzy. The Other Voice told him to defy orders — no, not defy. He hadn’t been ordered to use the two to make the prince obey. It wasn’t defiance to fulfill orders, was it? The Other was right. It worked. Orders are orders and they were fulfilled. That was all that mattered.

The prince was stubborn. New orders were given. It relieved him to have orders. _If it’s a fight you want, then you can fight this._ He waited obediently. Stood in front of a king he was told he had. _I’m not fighting him. No? A Saiyan prince shouldn’t be afraid of a fight. I am not afraid._ He waited. Royals squabbled still. _My father is as dead as your son._ The prince stepped closer. He continued to wait. _And yet here you are, and here I am._ The bald one blocked the prince. He waited still. _Take that damn thing off of him. Why would I do that?_ He waited. Still. _He’s my son. They said it would kill him._ The prince laughed. Something inside him wanted to laugh too. _And you’re a goddamn fool to believe them. He’s far stronger than that._  A hint of pride. _Then I will remove it when you agree to listen to me._

The prince stopped laughing. The king was amused. He never moved once.

Hours or days or weeks or months went by. No. Not months. Or maybe...he didn’t know anymore. He knew it wasn’t months. It couldn’t have been. But how did he know? He knew enough. Someone noticed the crack. Someone noticed the way he stretched his fingers. Or maybe someone noticed how he moved his head. He wasn’t very still now. He tried. But his mind was filled with want. Want for something he didn’t know. He wanted...he wanted...

 _You sure? He just wandered outside?_ He was still now. His arms and legs were too heavy. _Yeah. The mask is broken, see? That must be it._ Hands touched the mask. He flinched away. Against orders.  _Damn. Prince Vegeta did that?_ A low whistle. They were impressed. He was too, somehow. Maybe.  _How do we fix it? We have to take it off._ No. He wanted something, but he didn’t want that. _We can’t. King’s orders._ Orders are orders are orders are —

They fixed it. It stayed on. It hurt but he never screamed. The whispers came back. His mind wasn't heavy anymore. He didn’t want anymore. Days went by again. New orders given, new missions completed. Enemies of the king kept appearing. He killed them. The prince was never far away but killed nothing. Just watched. He was kept in a room far removed. Five attendants. One always wanted to fight him. The king always said no. The prince always laughed. Days and days between orders. Days and days between sleep.

 _Your Highness! Remove that thing. But the king_ —No. No, don’t remove it. Orders are — _You dare defy your prince? Very well. On the king’s command, then._ They hesitated. They waited. As they should. As he did. A new order came. A compromise was reached. The mask would come off. The prince was angry but determined.  _Satisfied? Now remove it, or I’ll make you wear it yourself._

They took it off slowly. And too quickly at the same time. His face felt raw. Nothing at first. And then suddenly it was something. Strange and unknowable at first but then — agony. It was agony. Light flooded his vision and the more it did the more it hurt. His mind was screaming, or he was, or both. His skin felt hot and the light only intensified, and something deep inside of him rattled his bones. He felt like he was being flayed alive, bit by bit, he could hardly breathe without gulping, gasping for air. It was trying to kill him, but he wouldn’t die. He refused to.

And then, as suddenly and violently as it came, it left. The light and heat faded into nothing as he sank into something cool and liquidy. This wasn’t death. That would’ve been too easy. The five were gone, and only one remained. It was just the prince now, keeping watch nearby. It left him feeling...calm. He wanted again, but this time he knew he wanted to sleep. He was so tired. It was easier to slip into darkness now, knowing that the feeling was there, and so he did.


	33. God Is A Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Explicit sexual content inbound.

_If we ever get separated, go to Fire Mountain and wait for me there._ His mom told him that when he was still young; when the fear of Frieza’s Forces bearing down on them was too real. Gohan had just died — or not, he supposed — and the fighting was getting worse. That had been so many years ago, and the entire trip here had Goten wondering if she’d even remembered or if this was just a waste of time like Vegeta suggested. But the sight of the other Remainers had swept away all doubt, and seeing his mom again after everything that had happened left him feeling more like a child than ever.

As soon as they got some privacy in their little capsule home, he’d confessed everything. Seeda, Gohan, dad...all of it came tumbling out in a mess of pent up emotion. She listened, she waited, and then she put her hands on her hips and when she spoke, her voice was raw and stiff.

“You’re back now, and that’s what matters,” she said. “And if I know your father, then he’ll figure everything out soon enough. We’d only get in his way.” She hesitated a moment before she continued, her face becoming softer as she spoke. “Gohan...Gohan will find his way back. He will.” The softness left her face and she was right back to scowling at him. “Now we don’t have time to sit around here and mope! _You_ have a lot of work to catch up on, young man!”

Goten didn’t have it in him to argue with her or bring up the dread he’d felt when Gohan had immediately abandoned him, or how he had tried to kill them. The desperation in her voice was subtle, but it was there. She had to believe what she was saying, just as she had to believe he would stay by her side. Now that he was here, though, he found he didn’t really _want_ to stay. He wanted to go back out there, wanted to avenge Seeda, and pick up where his dad left off. He wanted to find Gohan and make him come home. And if his dad failed and Frieza came back, he wanted to fight.

Although...maybe it _was_ better this way. Maybe his mom was right, and he’d only get in the way. After all, he hadn’t been lying when he said Vegeta and Bulma were the whole reason they made it this far. He couldn’t even keep Bulla safe when she needed him, when that masked man came for her. All he’d done was get in the way, put people at risk, and nearly got Bulla killed — just like he’d gotten Seeda killed. The guilt came back in an unexpected wave the moment he stepped out of the camper and faced everyone that loved her. No one said it, but he knew some must have thought it was his fault. And honestly, he didn’t think they were wrong.

The first night they were back, it was like his mom was determined to drive Bulma and Bulla away as fast as possible. Part of him understood. He knew she hadn’t forgiven Bulma for her unintentional part in their first brush with Frieza all those years ago. The other part felt sorry for Bulma and how she floundered trying to make conversation only to get the cold shoulder in return. Then his mom had to drag Bulla into it and he knew it was over. When they started screaming at each other, the only thing he could think to do was get him and Bulla out of there to let them hash it out alone. 

He’d really only intended just a normal walk with Bulla, to give them both a chance to breathe without their moms yelling at each other. She’d been acting colder than usual since Vegeta left. Not that he could blame her — he knew all too well what that felt like. But the more she insisted she didn’t care, the less convinced he was. And when she demanded they spar, he’d thought maybe that would at least help her a little. After all, training usually helped him clear his head.

But they didn’t just spar, did they? 

It’d been a week since it first happened and he still couldn’t get it out of his head, even with everything else going on. Krillin left less than a day after they’d arrived, promising up and down that he would be back soon, and Caff had demanded a rematch of a previous spar, which saw the destruction of two carts before Chi-Chi yelled at them.

Yet still, his mind would drift back to that night. The way she pressed her lips against his, and how she slid down and into his lap when he sat up to deepen the kiss. His hands felt stupidly clumsy when he tried to pull her as close as possible, growing hard embarrassingly fast when she ground against him. Her fingers went to his hair and he was so lost in it that when she broke off the kiss and shoved him back he was just as stunned as he was at the start. Goten could only watch as she got to her feet and walked away from him, through the trees and back to the pathway. By the time he’d come to his senses again, she was nearly back to the village. And at that point, he was in desperate need of a cold shower.

Neither of them had breathed a word about it the next morning. Chi-Chi had finally broken down and agreed to let the two stay, although she was extremely quick to find them a different capsule house and put them there. It wasn’t far away — right across from them, in fact. He’d insisted on it, in case anything happened and they needed to make a quick escape. There was another reason too, one he wasn’t as willing to share with his mom of all people. Goten liked having Bulla close by, he liked being able to feel her ki, as unusual as it was.

He and Bulla still trained, still went to the same spot, and they still didn’t do much in the way of talking. At first he thought that the kiss had been a one-time thing. That she’d just been feeling some way and it wouldn’t happen again. And then it did anyway, and it _kept_ happening. Her mouth wound up on his again and again, even when he’d tell himself it wouldn’t because her training was too important. She would always start it, and she would always push him away when she was done, and neither would speak of it. Then he’d go back home and pretend it hadn’t happened, all the while thinking about how badly he wanted _more,_ but his hand was the only relief he'd get.

Goten had had girlfriends in the past. He was thirty, for Kami's sake, of course he had. It was difficult to manage with the kind of life he led and the kind of mom he had, but he’d always made it work once or twice before. Most of them were short-lived but all of them ended amicably. Never had any of them confused him or left him wanting the way Bulla did, though. He couldn’t even figure out how he felt about _her_ let alone what she did to him with just a few kisses. He felt like an awkward teenager again, not for the first time with her, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Bulla had a knack for intimidation, and she knew it. He found it impossible to say no to her, because she _always_ got what she wanted. Despite her small stature, she carried herself with a confidence that entered a room before she did. Sometimes it seemed like she was playing a game no one else was in on with the way she’d look at everyone. She could be cruel and downright mean in ways that made Goten’s skin crawl. But then he’d remember how pretty she was when her eyes lit up as she smiled, or how her cheeks would flush pink when she laughed. And then she would kiss him and he’d forget _everything._

“Goten? Did you hear me?” his mom’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and he sat up a bit too straight too quickly. 

“Er, yeah,” he said, then paused and smiled awkwardly. “Actually, no...I didn’t. Sorry.”

Chi-Chi sighed and shook her head. “Caff said he saw a patrol fly overhead earlier this morning. We’re lucky he did, because if he hadn’t then he wouldn’t have had time to get people inside,” she said. “It hasn’t even been a week and there’s already trouble. I _said_ this was a bad idea, didn’t I?”

He frowned. Why was he only hearing about this patrol just now? “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” he said carefully. “And they didn’t stop, right? Mushroom City’s not too far away. I bet that’s where they were heading.”

She wasn’t as convinced, but he knew she wouldn’t be. He left the house after breakfast, once she’d given him a stern reminder that he had work to do around the village. That made him feel a little bad. He’d been putting off a lot of that work so that he could train with Bulla, and since their training usually left him...well, let’s say a bit out of sorts, he’d been too distracted to do much else. _Not today,_ he promised himself. _Today I have to stay focused._

His orange-haired companion met him outside by the radio tent, where Jilby was busy trying to get a signal. Jilby was a man who made Krillin look tall; tiny and wrinkled, he had wizened gray hair and reddish-brown skin. He was their resident tech guy, and Goten thought he might be half as good as Bulma, which was saying quite a lot about his abilities. The radios had gone down a couple of days before, and Goten was supposed to go check on them. “ _There’s_ the golden boy, at long last,” the taller man said, shaking his head. Jilby barely looked up.

A former bandit, Caff was a large, muscular man who looked more like a slightly less furry bear than a human. They’d met ten years ago when Caff was terrorizing villages near North City. He’d dropped his gang when Goten beat him in a fight and had been traveling with them ever since. His orange hair was a mess of tangled curls that fell past his ears, and met almost seamlessly with a big bushy beard. He was at least a foot taller than Goten with twice the mass, and was covered in scars from head to toe. His one green eye and one milky white one regarded Goten with the same scrutiny he applied to everyone he saw.

“Mom said you saw a patrol?” Goten said. Caff made a gruff sound and pointed to the sky.

“S’right. Barely saw ‘em in time, too.” He motioned for Goten to follow him, and as they neared the edge of the village, Caff looked back over his shoulder before speaking again. “I know those women are from the city.” Goten paused, then began to protest but Caff held a hand up. “I’ve been to plenty of cities, golden boy. I know city girls when I see ‘em. They’re both _soft._ ”

“They’re here to help us,” Goten said, trying to dismiss the argument before it started.

“How? Skinny arms and more mouths to feed don’t help us none,” Caff replied. He stepped closer to Goten. “Seems mighty strange a patrol would fly by way out here, doesn’t it?”

It took Goten a second to realize what he was suggesting, but when he did he reeled back and shook his head vigorously. “That’s not their fault,” he said. “It’s a coincidence. Mushroom City is—”

“West. This patrol was heading south.”

“It’s _not_ their fault,” Goten repeated, more firmly this time. Caff searched his face for a few seconds, as though trying to determine whether or not he was lying. Suddenly, his mouth split open into a wide smile. He let out a loud laugh and clapped a big hand down on Goten’s shoulder to shake him.

“You’re sweet on the girl,” Caff said. It wasn’t a question.

Goten could feel his face heat up in an instant and Caff roared with laughter again. “No, it’s not like that—” Goten tried again to protest, but the orange-haired man only roared louder. Just as well, too. That wasn’t a lie he could easily tell.

“You poor boy,” Caff said once he’d finally caught his breath. Goten wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but Caff often said things he didn’t get. Caff turned and nodded toward the village, and Goten followed his gaze to see Bulla. She was heading for the camper and disappeared inside, the door shutting loudly behind her. He wondered if she’d had another argument with Bulma. “Here I thought you’d settle for a nice little farm girl. Like Seeda,” the mention of Seeda’s name had Goten screwing his jaw shut, and he frowned. “Careful, golden boy, those city ones will eat you alive.”

“She’s...” Goten started, but he stopped himself. Bulla wasn’t very _nice,_ and he definitely couldn’t imagine her working on a farm, but that didn’t matter to him. “It isn’t like that, Caff,” he said again. Wasn’t it a little bit, though? He really hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. The orange-haired man only grinned, thoroughly pleased with himself. Goten was quick to continue heading down the path, eager to be free from the conversation. “Anyway, we should get to work.”

It took half a day to get to the tower. They walked the whole way since Caff had repeatedly refused to learn how to fly, only to find it had been reduced to a ruin. A fire appeared to have broken out and consumed the area, then burned out when it reached the nearby river. Goten and Caff tried to salvage what they could, but even without knowing much about it, they both knew it was probably a lost cause. He packed up what few of the lesser burned pieces he could to bring back to Bulma, hoping she’d be able to work some kind of magic. 

The pair stayed the night in a small clearing nearby the ruined tower, and by the time Goten returned to the village, it was well into the afternoon of the next day. Caff remained behind to hunt and Goten dragged the pieces of the radio tower to Jilby.

“What, exactly, am I supposed to do with these?” Jilby asked, peering up at Goten from over his little round glasses.

“Um...well...I don’t know,” Goten admitted. “But if you’re not sure, I know someone who might have ideas! I’ll go get her. I’m sure both of you can come up with something.”

Jilby wrinkled his square nose at that. “The city woman?” he asked. Goten paused and nodded slowly, though he struggled to hide his confusion. Jilby waved his hand dismissively. “No thanks. Just trash these. I’ll figure something else out.”

Goten hesitated, then frowned. He wound up dragging the pieces to Bulma’s door instead, all the while curious as to why everyone was so against the two. They’d welcomed plenty of people from the cities before. What made Bulma and Bulla so different? He’d just reached up to knock on the door when it opened. Bulla stood there, looking at him expectantly. Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid, and the previously dark green was beginning to fade into a lighter shade. His eyes dropped to her mouth and his stomach immediately knotted itself up. When Goten realized he was staring, probably pretty dumbly, he swallowed hard and quickly forced his eyes back to the rest of her face.

“Uh...hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said back. He knew she was waiting for him to say something else, but he suddenly had no idea _what_. Kami, how old was he again? She crossed her arms while she watched him. Oh good, she was getting impatient now. This was so embarrassing. He’d come here for a reason, didn’t he? 

“I, uh...I was looking for...”

She looked over his shoulder at whatever it was he dragged with him and raised an eyebrow. “Bulma?”

Bulma? Oh, right! “Yes!” he said too loudly. He cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. Is she here?”

Bulla eyed him for a moment before she stepped back, opening the door wider so he could step inside. “I’ll go get her,” she said. He shut the door behind him as she walked away, and it took a lot out of him not to stare at her back as she went. He already felt too warm and he hadn’t even touched her. Again he wondered just how the hell old he was. Definitely well past the age where it was acceptable to get all worked up _that_ quickly.

“Hey, Goten!” Bulma said when she rounded the corner, smiling brightly. “You got something for me?”

He noticed that Bulla hadn’t come back, but he hid the disappointment behind a cheerful nod. “Sure do, Miss Bulma! It’s a little burned up, but I thought you might be able to use something from it.”

They went back outside and he stayed with her while she rifled through the pile. Occasionally she’d toss something aside after looking at it for just a second, say something that sounded really complicated to him, and when she was done she had him sort out the things she could use. He carried them around back for her and helped her set them up. 

“Thanks, Goten. You’re a sweet kid,” Bulma said once he was through. 

“It’s no problem! I’m happy to help anyway I can,” he replied, brushing his hands off. He glanced back at her door, hoping again to see Bulla there. When she wasn’t, he cleared his throat and looked back to Bulma, who had started busying herself with taking apart one of the consoles.

“Hey, um...how’s Bulla doing?” he asked, doing his best to sound as natural as possible. Bulma paused and shrugged before she went back to work.

“I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know she doesn’t really talk to me,” she said, sounding remarkably resigned with that fact. “But if I had to guess, she could probably use some company that’s not mine today. You two have been training a lot, right?” Goten really hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt, though even if it was at least her back was still to him. “I really appreciate you stepping up like that. Without Vegeta, I was worried she’d slack off, but you’ve been a big help keeping her focused!”

Now he _knew_ his face was red. He was sure if she turned around she’d see a tomato in place of his head. It didn’t help that his immediate reaction was to let out a nervous string of laughter.

“Oh, yeah, haha! Of course! I’m happy to help any way I can!” Wait, he said that already. He hoped she didn’t notice. “W-well, I better get going. It’s getting kinda late. Have a good night, Miss Bulma!” The sun was definitely still up and it was definitely not late. He whirled around and hurried away before she could look at him, and cursed himself internally. Why was he so damn awkward all the time? This was his dad’s fault. Sometimes he wished he was more like his mom.

“Hey Goten,” Bulla’s voice made him nearly jump out of his skin as he came around the corner. She was leaning against the house near the front door with her arms crossed.

“H-hey,” he stammered back, still feeling flush from embarrassment. She pushed away from the wall and walked by him, headed for the path. At first, he didn’t move, watching her instead until she stopped to glance over her shoulder at him. She gave him a look and tilted her head.

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked. It was more of a demand if anything, and for a moment he considered not following her. Bulma had literally just thanked him for training her, totally unaware of the other thing they did every time. He felt a little guilty at the thought. He felt even more guilty that he didn’t feel guilty enough not to follow her. They returned to the part of the woods they’d claimed for...training, all the while Goten argued with himself internally. _Training and just training,_ he told himself. _Bulma trusts you to **just** train her. _

Luckily, she seemed to only have training in mind as well, although he’d be lying if he wasn’t a little more disappointed than he had any right to be. They sparred off and on for several uninterrupted minutes straight, and he noted that she’d gotten to the point where he didn’t need to stop as often to offer as many explanations. She was getting more sure of herself every day, although she hadn’t gotten any less ruthless. If anything, she only got meaner with every hit, going for parts of him he’d really rather she not aim for. Whoever she wound up fighting someday, he kind of felt sorry for them already. He was just thankful he remained quick enough to avoid that kind of pain.

“I want to work on that ki stuff,” she said while they stopped to rest for a minute. He considered her request silently, frowning a bit before he responded.

“I’m not really sure how to teach that,” he admitted. Bulla’s emotions rarely read so plainly on her face, but her disappointment was plain to see. “Don’t worry! I’ll still try. Just don’t get too frustrated. This kind of thing takes time to learn.” Though, given who her father was, he doubted it would take _that_ long.

They sat cross-legged across from one another, and Goten struggled a moment to come up with the right words. “So, ki is...energy inside you that—”

“I know what it is,” she interrupted, though not as harshly as she usually did. “But how do you use it?”

“Oh, well...let’s see...you just sort of _draw_ that energy out,” he cupped his hands in front of himself and produced a small ki ball, the light sitting neatly between his palms. “Try to concentrate, but don’t overthink it. It’s like a...it’s like a warm feeling you wanna pull out. Just trust your body to know what to do.” 

It struck him how familiar this seemed, sitting here showing her how to do this. His mind went back to years before, when he first met Videl and Gohan taught her how to do the same thing. He lamented that he’d been too distracted to listen to what his brother had said to her. If he’d paid attention, this might have been easier to explain. Bulla sat there with her hands cupped like his, completely focused yet nothing happened. He watched as she began to chew on her bottom lip in irritation and her eyebrows knitted together. 

“Remember to trust yourself,” he offered softly. Her eyes glanced up to his face briefly and he thought for a moment he saw more than just frustration in them, though she looked back down before he could figure it out. But her patience ran out and she dropped her hands to her lap, scowling furiously down at them.

“I can’t do it,” she spat. “Frieza—those stupid jewels...” Bulla bit down on her lip before she said more, and Goten didn’t dare ask her to elaborate. After so many years of never being able to feel any ki let alone use it, he imagined it must have been frustrating. It was probably why her own ki was always so all over the place. He felt sorry for her, but he knew she’d hate to hear that. The light between his hands disappeared and he reached down to take hers and cup them for her again. He framed them with his own and produced the ki ball again, this time letting it hover over her palms.

“Feel that? How warm that is?” he said. “That’s what you’re looking for. Just be patient.”

Goten vanished the ki away but kept his hands close. She continued to concentrate, her fingers trembling slightly as she did. Finally, a light flickered in her hands and her eyes widened at the sight.

“Hey! You did it! Good jo—”

He barely managed to jerk back in time for the little ball to shoot off and rip through the tree beside them. His arms had come up to shield himself defensively, and when he lowered them hesitantly he saw that despite her own surprise, she still wore a proud smirk on her lips. Well, at least he knew she was a fast learner.

“A little warning next time, huh?” he said through small laughs. “We’ll have to work on your control.” He sat back up and quite suddenly found himself face to face with her, so close that their noses nearly touched. After only a brief pause, she moved forward just enough to press her lips into his gently.

 _We’re supposed to be training,_ he weakly tried to remind himself. _Just training._ His resolve was melting away as she crawled over him. _If anyone walks by, they’ll see us,_ he tried again. Except he knew no one would, they were deep into the thickest part of trees. _This can’t keep happening._ Her legs wrapped around his waist and she settled into his lap. Every argument he formed in his head completely fell apart as her tongue slipped into his mouth. 

Bulla pulled away, torturously slow. “I think I have plenty of control,” she whispered against his mouth. Her hands came up to either side of his face, and when she kissed him again it was with a roughness that very nearly hurt. Not that he really cared at that moment. He just knew he wanted whatever she was offering, and he had every intention of enjoying every second of it.

Goten broke the kiss this time, dragging his mouth down into the softness of her neck. She gasped as he sucked and kissed at her skin. Emboldened by the response, his fingers moved under her shirt, one in front and one in back. The one in front found a breast and he squeezed gently, two fingers lightly pinching her nipple between them. But he must have done something wrong — she flinched away from his touch and grabbed his wrist to shove it down, away from her chest entirely. He paused to look at her, concerned that he might have hurt her.

“Not there,” she said breathlessly, and she kissed him again to spur him on. He kept his hands to her waist before trailing behind to grab her backside. She didn’t seem to mind that at all given how she rolled her hips against him at the touch. He was almost painfully hard then, to the point where every movement she made caused his hips to jolt slightly. Every other night ended long before this point, before he was so desperate that he wasn’t sure he’d make it home. Now, he _knew_ he wouldn’t make it.

When she pulled away again he thought that was it, that he would be left on his own to figure all that mess out. But then he felt her hand slip into the front of his pants and grab him. The touch made him jump slightly, and when she began stroking him he could only think enough to breathe her name. Everything happened much faster after that. He couldn’t be sure when or how she’d gotten her own pants off. All he knew was the warmth of her mouth on his and the heat of her when he slipped into her wetness.

Goten didn’t last long at all. He would have liked to say he did, that he even could. But he was too worked up, and it had been far too long for him. The way she moved up and down his length so perfectly, the feeling of her chest brushing into his own, how she writhed under his thumb as he rubbed her clit, and the sight of those gorgeous blue eyes locked onto his...it was all too much too quickly.

He grabbed her by the waist, thrusting into her with such urgency that he remembered too late to pull out, his hips stuttering as he struggled for control. _Just a bit longer, just a little more_. Feebly he thought to remove himself, but by then she was coming, her thighs spasming against him. It felt so good, _too_ good, that he surrendered to it and came as well, her name falling from his mouth in an almost desperate plea. Bulla’s lips found his again and the sound she made as he came caused him to shudder and buck further into her, burying himself deeper. Even after he was spent he continued to hold her close, his cock twitching inside her every time she made the slightest movement. Then, all at once he realized his mistake, and a hint of guilt struck him.

“I...I tried to...I didn’t bring any protection,” he started to explain.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, resting her forehead on his. He started to protest, because maybe she didn’t understand what he was saying, but she brought a hand up over his mouth. She rolled her hips against him, replacing his protests with a low moan. “Shh, doesn’t matter. Trust me.” She kissed him again. He trusted her with his whole damn life then.

They sat there for only a short time to catch their breath. Bulla moved off of him and used her discarded underwear to clean herself up, entirely unconcerned with the mess between her legs. He remained where he was, gingerly tucking himself back into his pants and adjusting his clothes as best he could. Neither had removed their shirts, which was for the best considering how cold it suddenly seemed with the sun going down. The sound of rustling branches caught his attention and for a moment he feared someone _had_ caught them. But the wind blew and the same sound happened again, and he decided it was nothing. No one would be this far away from the village so late, he reasoned.

For several minutes Goten felt like he was in a bit of a trance, as if what just happened hadn’t quite caught up with him yet. But as the silence settled between them, it sank in fully. The realization that he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross hit him like a ton of bricks, and a wave of uncertainty and regret washed over him. _What have I done? I was just supposed to be training her,_ he scolded himself. He didn’t even want to consider what Vegeta would say or, probably more likely, _do_ if he found out. Or worse, what his own mother would do. She would definitely lose her mind.

But...Bulla was just as much of an adult as he was. She could make her own choices, and if anything, _she_ was the one who made this one for both of them. That had to count for something, right? He watched her as she adjusted her own clothing, watched the sway of her hips when she walked and how the thin sheen of sweat made her skin shimmer in the sunset light. To his shame, his eyes kept falling to her backside as they returned to the village, and his fingers itched to feel her once more. Spent as he was, he could feel himself begin to stiffen again already. He wanted her, he realized, so badly that even after he relieved himself in the shower that night, she was still all he could think about.

Oh, kami. What the hell had he gotten himself into?


	34. Vita Ante Acta

There was an earthling saying the woman was fond of using. About a duck walking and talking and being a duck, even if ducks didn’t _actually_ speak as far as he knew. It was just a silly phrase she often used on Trunks, and it amused the boy endlessly to respond by quacking at her. Vegeta wasn’t convinced of its accuracy, but from what he understood, its meaning was sound. If it looked and acted duck-like, it was most likely a duck. 

This man, this so-called king...he certainly _seemed_ like his father. He spoke like him, if not a bit more formally than he remembered, but he was still resolute and calm with a wit as sharp as a blade. He acted like him, with the demeanor of a cunning, pragmatic and ruthless ruler of a warrior race. And he looked like him, of that there was no doubt. But Vegeta still refused to accept it. He was sure that this was a clever trick by Frieza, a last-ditch effort to break him, and it wouldn’t work.

So Vegeta fought them at first. He’d easily discarded the first dozen soldiers who approached him and was about to set his sights on the king when they brought Trunks out again to use as their own personal shield. 

“If it’s a fight you want, then you can fight this,” the king had said nonchalantly.

It was enough to enrage him. He was getting tired of how many times his own child was being used against him. Had it not been for the thin line of blood trailing down Trunks’ neck from under the mask, he might have been willing to knock the boy out and continue his rampage. But his son was clearly wounded, and he would not be used to hurt him further.

Compliance was difficult, but not impossible. He began to have his doubts when the king made it clear he wasn’t interested in trying too hard to convince him, after he’d rebuffed any attempts at conversation for the third time. “You may leave anytime,” the king offered. “But I keep the boy.” At least _that_ was accurate to his character. Vegeta had certainly never known his father to be anything but merciless with his decisions. Careful and considered most often, yes, but always merciless. The king was right in his trust that Vegeta wouldn’t simply leave Trunks behind.

So for a week, he became their unofficial prisoner, kept in a room he recognized too well. He knew he could fight them. He knew he could take his son back by force, regardless of anything they threw his way. He knew that he could do it, that no other Saiyan here could even dream of the kind of power he possessed, let alone attain it for themselves. Yet...something stayed his hand. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was out of caution for Trunks’ life. Or perhaps it was a case of misplaced nostalgia, though the thought frustrated him. Just when had he ever been the type to get _nostalgic?_ But these walls were too familiar, stirring memories of a life he’d lived before.

Still, he complied, unconvinced at first until it became clear that perhaps it wasn’t a trick after all. He knew this ship, knew these hallways and the rooms they led to. Worst of all, he recognized so many faces. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the signs as the hours turned to days and he spent more time aboard. Eventually, he came to accept at least some truth: while not _his_ father, this was indeed a King Vegeta III, and this was indeed a version of his ship.

This king was also far more pitiless than the one he knew, if such a thing were even possible. It seemed like a cruel twist of irony to have his own child used against him by a man who claimed to have suffered the same. And as it turned out, these Saiyans had their own plans with Frieza’s absence: they were going to take his place as conquerors. It was all they had ever been known to do. Vegeta thought briefly that he would have liked to see what Cabba had to say about _these_ Saiyans. Probably something relentlessly polite.

Vegeta was forced to listen to the king’s proposal in exchange for the promise of his son’s freedom. It was clear from the beginning that the king wanted to bring Vegeta back into the fold — likely to use him as a replacement for his own son, he thought cynically. The whole conversation itself was as cordial as a Saiyan could achieve. On the outside, it may have even seemed as though Vegeta had a choice. But that was far from the case.

“And when you’re done with this planet? What then?” Vegeta asked, and his tone practically dripped with acid.

“We will do as we’ve always done,” the king answered simply. It was all he needed to hear to end the conversation there. He knew exactly what they intended to do to the earth, and he would not allow it.

Regardless, Vegeta had made good on his word and in return, they removed the damn mask at last. The looks on the attendants’ faces when Trunks went Super Saiyan once the mask came off was almost enough to amuse him. Their shock and fear had been exactly what Vegeta needed them to see, so they would understand who they had been treating like a toy. Vegeta had been the one to get his son into the healing tank. It wasn’t too difficult to overpower him; he was strong as a Super Saiyan, yes, but the transformation had come as a result of the intense pain the boy was going through. He was hardly able to fight back in a way that was actually effective. 

For now, Trunks was confined there, and Vegeta remained close by after sending away the others. With his clothes removed, Vegeta realized his son was slightly thinner than he remembered, having lost at least some muscle mass from the lack of food and sleep he’d suffered. It seemed that between Frieza’s men and these Saiyans, not a single one of those morons had thought to treat him as anything more than a machine. What’s more, the damn fools hadn’t been willing to remove the mask even to tend to the wounds on his face.

When they’d first taken it off, one of his eyes had been caked with dried blood, and at first, Vegeta feared he’d been partially blinded. It wasn’t the case, but the boy still had a deep cut from his eyebrow to the top of his cheek. There was another one, a crooked line that started on the bridge of Trunks’ nose and ended above the corner of his mouth. He recognized these as scars that _he_ caused, from when he tried to break that mask off his son’s face. It was a harsh reminder of his short-comings, and it left Vegeta seething at himself.

“Prince Vegeta,” a soldier disturbed his thoughts, and he glared at her. “The king would see you.”

“ _The king_ can wait,” he snapped back. 

“It wasn’t a request,” she warned. Vegeta ignored her and she eventually gave up. _Let him stew,_ he thought, turning his attention back to Trunks. He would not be leaving his son alone with these ghosts any longer than he had to. As soon as he was able, he’d take him back to Bulma and leave this place behind for good.

Unexpectedly, the king walked into the room only an hour later. He left two guards at the door, closing it behind him as he stepped inside. This king wore his cloak differently, Vegeta noticed. The crimson cloth draped over one shoulder from front to back, partially concealing the tail wrapped around his waist. All of the differences _mattered_ to him because for as inconsequential as they may have appeared, they remained his constant source of confirmation that this was not, and would never be, the father he knew.

“When they told me this was a world in which you were alive, I did not believe them at first,” the king said, breaking the long silence between them. “Frieza has sent us to plenty of worlds before, and in every single one of them, there is a constant. You are dead and our people are gone. Then we are brought here to witness Frieza’s end, and I am told you are alive.” The king stepped closer to the tank, as though he was examining Trunks and Vegeta watched him closely. “Here you survived, even prospered, and Frieza is gone.”

Vegeta disliked the king’s too measured tone, but when he spoke he did so as evenly as possible. “I’ve been told I’m difficult to kill,” he said. He’d only been a boy when Frieza put an end to their planet, and therefore he’d never had need to learn the finer points of any political nuance. Not that Saiyans were an especially nuanced people, but still — he had to be patient, had to do this right for Trunks’ sake. _“_ I assume you have some sort of plan, then.”

“Frieza was no fool. He took planets and used them well, and this one does indeed have its uses,” the king began. “We need only show these weaklings the might of the Saiyan race and they will bend to us as they did him. Even our low-level soldiers are already proving too much for the captain and her pretenders — we have won significant battles against them already.”

He thought back to the captain and recalled the soldiers in her command. They were all stronger than they appeared, even the teal-haired girl Trunks had been with before had put up an impressive fight. It seemed odd to him that they could be so easily defeated. “And if Frieza comes back to find you’ve betrayed him?” the prince asked, setting aside his thoughts.

“He will also find his armies destroyed.”

Vegeta snorted at that, almost entertained at the idea. “You should know as well as I do Frieza doesn’t need an army.”

The king regarded him with a scrutinizing gaze. “I’ve been told that it was one of the low-class warriors that defeated him. A son of Bardock. Is that true?”

“Yes. Kakarot.” Vegeta needed him to know that name. 

“If a single low-class warrior was capable of such strength, then you and your half-breeds should more than suffice. And need I remind you we have an entire army of our own, if you’re still not convinced,” the king said stiffly. He paced to the window across the room. “Once we’ve taken this planet, we will continue our conquest through the galaxy. I’m certain it will only be a matter of time before we find a more suitable home for our people. One that is far less...filthy.”

“No,” Vegeta said. The resolve in his own voice surprised him.

“You disapprove.” The king looked back at him. “Why?”

“I live here,” he answered as if it were obvious. _And I am not your son._

The king did not seem pleased at his choice in words. “Have you truly grown so fond of this planet that you would turn your back on your people?” Vegeta didn’t answer right away, and the king’s gaze drifted back to Trunks. Although the man’s expression never betrayed what he was thinking, the prince still didn’t trust the way he was looking at his son.

When the king returned his attention to Vegeta, he gave him a measuring look. “A time will come when you need to make a choice,” he said. “There will only be two sides in the upcoming fight. Ours, and theirs. You have a place here as my son, the Prince of All Saiyans, as is your right. I trust you’ll make the correct choice.” He crossed the room then, making for the door.

Vegeta watched as the crimson-colored cloak swayed behind him, considering the words that sat on the tip of his tongue before finally speaking them. “You knew very well how powerful he was without the mask.”

The king never slowed his pace, only pausing so long as it took to open the door. “Yes, I did.”

He was just barely able to contain the rage that threatened the edge of his voice. “Then you kept it on him to torture him.”

“No. Not him.” The door closed behind him with a hiss. Vegeta punched a new hole in the wall.

The next day came and brought with it a change in the air. It seemed the king had been overconfident in his attacks on Frieza’s Forces. They’d lost only a small number of soldiers in a skirmish just outside of Satan City, but it still left him furious. Vegeta had been content to let him fume, to let the failure and defeat eat at him, but then he’d been forced to meet with the king. He promised to make good on his threats if anything happened to Trunks while he was away, and he was anything but pleasant when he entered the king’s quarters.

Nappa was there, to Vegeta’s great annoyance, as were two others he didn’t know. An older woman with sharp features and narrow eyes, and a burly young man with the beginnings of a beard. They both looked in his direction as he came to a stop and crossed his arms. The king didn’t so much as glance up, as he was busy looking at the tablet in his hands. 

“Fifteen elite warriors killed,” the king was saying as Vegeta entered. There was a thin line between fury and disbelief in his voice. “And no one can tell me _how._ ”

“They were ambushed,” the woman said. “The scout who returned said it was only a single attack that killed the others.”

“You can’t seriously believe _that_ ,” Nappa interjected.

She shot him a glare. “Who would admit to being defeated by a single attack so readily, knowing how much it would shame them? I assure you, it was a single attack.”

“More likely it was a hidden group,” the young man added his disbelief. “Come on, Nappa’s right. No _one_ being could have killed so many with one attack.”

“Maybe you should go investigate yourself then, and prove us all wrong, Ruco,” the woman snapped. Ruco took a step toward her and, despite the significant difference in height, the woman turned to face him.

“Enough. Leave us,” the king ordered, and the three Saiyans departed quickly. The woman shot a glance in Vegeta’s direction as she went, and Nappa barely hid the smug smirk on his face. As soon as the door closed behind them, the king spoke again. “If Tollash’s scout is correct, then the earthlings could not be responsible for this. Someone else has entered the fray. I trust you know who they are.”

Of course Vegeta knew. Or at least, he had a very good idea of who it most likely was, yet he shook his head in denial all the same. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t. Perhaps the earthlings have a _secret weapon_ no one’s told you about.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t find your glibness very amusing,” the king said flatly. “Whoever it is, they’re no more than a thorn in my side as of right now, and we will deal with them later.” He crossed the room to look out the massive windows, down at the earth below. “You should know the earthlings have been searching for your daughter.”

Vegeta’s expression tightened. “They won’t find her.”

“They already have,” the king said. The prince jerked his head to look at the other man, eyes narrowing.

“You’re lying,” Vegeta ventured, hoping to catch him in it. The king turned and offered the tablet out to Vegeta, who stepped forward and took it to examine the words on the screen. It only confirmed what the king was saying, and Vegeta frowned darkly at it. If it was to be believed, an entire battalion of Frieza’s Elite Forces was on their way to Fire Mountain headed by Captain Almone herself.

His fingers twitched as he held the tablet, glaring down at it in anger. If he left now, he might make it in time. Vegeta could take them himself. He could fight them and most likely, he could push them back without any help. But even if he did get there quick enough, Trunks was still here, still unconscious, and would still need time to heal. He had too long to go before he could be moved, and even then there was no guarantee that without Bulma’s modified mask, he wouldn’t revert to whatever programming they’d put in his mind, just as Gohan nearly had.

“We could meet to attack them before they have a chance to take her,” the king offered. “I’m told she’s no warrior herself, and whatever value she has lies solely in who she belongs to.”

“She _belongs_ to no one,” Vegeta hissed. “She’s my daughter.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” the king said dismissively. “She is also a half-breed pet groomed for one purpose by our people’s greatest enemy.” Vegeta took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to lash out and strike the king but barely able to contain himself. The king held up a hand. “But half-breeds or not, you _are_ the Prince of All Saiyans. We would not allow your children to be harmed by our enemies. Of course, I can arrange to have her brought here. She and your earthling woman. It would be far safer for both of them.”

Vegeta felt as though his blood was on fire while the king spoke. He didn’t doubt that it would indeed be safer for them, that no one would dare touch them. In theory, having an army of Saiyans between Frieza’s Forces and his family _would be_ ideal. Bulla would have a better opportunity to train properly with real warriors, Trunks could heal uninterrupted and become stronger when he woke, and Bulma would be pleased to get her hands on their technology.

But he knew the cost attached. He knew what the king asked in return. If he wanted to protect his family now, he would have to ally himself with this king and these Saiyans and their plans. And even if it was a temporary alliance, those words still rang true. There would indeed be a time for him to make a choice. Either way, the fate of the earth was sat between two sides of the same coin — complete domination by one force or the other. But right now, he had very few options available, and time was running out. Bulla and his wife were in danger. Once again, his family was being used against him.

 _This will be the last time,_ he promised himself as he stared daggers into the king’s eyes.

“Very well,” Vegeta said stiffly. “But I’ll be leading the attack myself.”

He had never seen his father smile outside of a battlefield before, Vegeta noted. The one that spread across his face now was an odd sight that didn’t sit right with him. _Enjoy it while it lasts,_ he thought. _We'll see how quickly you’ll regret this victory, ‘father.’_


	35. Blood in the Water

Maybe she was just getting crankier with age, or maybe the way people here looked at her bothered her more than she was willing to admit. Whatever the case, Bulma found she wasn’t really in the best of moods most of the time. Pretty much everyone in the village seemed determined to hate her; her daughter, Chi-Chi, even the nice-looking old lady who made bread. Everyone either gave her the cold shoulder or outright told her to go away. Everyone except sweet, kind Goten, who would bring her salvaged old tech he’d find out in the wilds. Probably more to make up for the fact that he was sleeping with her daughter than anything else, but it was still sweet.

Oh, yeah. That. She definitely figured _that_ out quick.

Bulla was really good at keeping secrets. Great, even. If Bulma only had her to go by, she’d never suspect a thing. But Goten was about as subtle as a tank. She caught how the way he looked at Bulla had changed, or more accurately, how he’d started to _stare_ at her. He’d be perfectly fine one second and then he’d see Bulla and he’d practically forget how to function. It reminded Bulma of the effect she used to have on guys, and frankly, she wasn’t even mad about it. In fact, she was a little proud. Far be it from her to have any say in who Bulla did anything with. She was a grown woman, and it wasn’t like she’d have listened to her anyway. At least Goten was a nice boy, someone who’d be good to her.

Then again, Bulla wasn’t exactly gentle herself; you’d certainly never question who her father was. She was intense and kind of mean, and certainly way too much for just anyone to handle. But maybe Goten’s influence would be a good one, she thought. Maybe it’d be like the one she’d had on Vegeta. As of right now, though, her daughter had that poor guy wrapped so completely around her finger that it was truly impressive.

The only other problem was that he wasn’t just _any_ guy. He was Goku’s kid, and even with all the strides Vegeta had made in not hating Goku, she was positive this wouldn’t go over well with him. Not to mention, Chi-Chi was just... _Chi-Chi._ She ruled out confronting her daughter about it, mostly because she knew Bulla would just lie and find a way to hate her more for it. So she could only hope that they were being careful because if Bulla got pregnant with a Son child, she was sure both Chi-Chi and Vegeta’s combined freak out would destroy the planet.

 _Maybe I should talk to Goten alone sometime,_ she thought. _At least warn him about how much worse it would be for him if he tries to hide it from Vegeta, if he ever comes back._ The last thought made her frown.

What was she thinking? Of course he would. It’d only been two weeks since he’d left with their possessed son and another Saiyan...who was taking him to see a father he hadn’t seen since he was a child...and reunite him with his formerly extinct race...which he was the actual royal prince of.

Alright, maybe she was a little concerned that it was taking him so long to come back. But she knew there was definitely, absolutely nothing to worry about. He loved her, and their kids. This wouldn’t be like the hyperbolic time chamber. He _would_ come back. In fact, any minute now and—

Long strands of her hair dropped from her cap and fell in front of her face, and the heavy wrench slipped from her fingers. It landed right on her foot, causing her to yelp and drop what she was working on. “Damn it!” she hissed, hobbling to the chair to sit down. She pulled off her shoe and sock, frowning at the red spot right on the top of her foot.

“So much for _that_ ,” she sighed as she hopped back into the house. Bulma had intended on finishing up her repairs to the radio transmitter’s power box, as a means to appeal herself to the village’s techie. He was just like everyone else, in that he’d decided to dislike her before she even had a chance to say hello. Ever since their chilly meeting she’d taken it upon herself to find a project and use it to show off her skills. Even if he was determined to hate her, he would at least damn well respect her. 

For now, though, she was going to have to take a break. It was well into the early evening after all. She had just settled onto the couch with a bowl of water to soak her foot in when someone knocked on the door. “Come in!” she said, and the door swung open to reveal Chi-Chi. The sight confused and surprised her, and for a moment she could only stare blankly.

“Where’s Goten?” Chi-Chi demanded. 

“I...don’t know?” Bulma said, truthfully. The last time she’d seen Goten was in the afternoon, when he dropped off some firewood for her before vanishing with Bulla. The two had been gone ever since, and as open-minded as Bulma was about her kids’ love lives, she wasn’t too interested in thinking about what was probably keeping them. Chi-Chi huffed and folded her arms, eyeing Bulma as though she thought she was lying.

“He’s with that daughter of yours, isn’t he?” she huffed. “I swear, that boy spends more time with _her_ than he does with his own mother!”

“Well, with Vegeta gone right now, Goten’s just trying to help teach her how to defend herself,” Bulma offered diplomatically. “They’ll be back soon enough, I’m sure of it!”

“There’s too much work to be done around this place for him to be running off like that!” Chi-Chi snapped. “He’s been ignoring his responsibilities more than ever. I don’t like him being around her so much — she’s clearly a bad influence!”

Bulma was really trying to be patient, but Chi-Chi was seriously pushing it. “For your information,  _h_ _e_ invites her to go train with him,” she said, a bit more testily than she’d intended. “And maybe she’d be out there helping him with all that work if everyone wasn’t so rude to us!”

“Hmph! Can you blame anyone? We never saw a single patrol out here until—”

That did it. “Are you kidding me?! It was one patrol, Chi-Chi, and Goten said they didn’t even stop!” Bulma said, anger bubbling over into her tone. “I am so sick of you blaming me for everything! It’s totally unfair! Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for us?! You’re not the only one who’s had it rough, you know!”

Chi-Chi’s face turned red and Bulma was sure their argument was about to reach explosive levels, but she abruptly deflated. And when she didn’t leave immediately, Bulma wasn’t quite sure of what to do next. Suddenly, she felt a bit...silly. Just what were they going to yell about this time? The past? It was like neither of them could get away from it. As silence settled between them, Bulma struggled with herself internally. Part of her wanted to come up with something to say to spark a _normal_ conversation, but what? She searched her brain for anything that wouldn’t ultimately lead back to an argument and found almost literally nothing. They used to be so close once, and now...well, Frieza’s rule had really complicated things.

To her surprise, it was Chi-Chi who spoke up first, sounding only slightly less heated than she did before. “What did you do to your foot, anyway?”

“This?” Bulma said, glancing down at it. “Oh, some of my hair got in my eyes and I dropped a wrench.”

“A wrench did _that?_ What on earth were you doing?” Chi-Chi stepped into the house to get a closer look at Bulma’s foot, and the blue-haired woman nodded. 

“I was trying to fix the power supply Goten brought by a few days ago, but the stupid thing is so old and rusted that some of the knobs are too hard to turn without a wrench,” Bulma said. Sometimes it was the little things that made her miss Vegeta that much more. He wouldn’t need the wrench at all. He’d just scowl, tell her what a waste of his time it was, and turn it with one hand. Probably without even looking.

Chi-Chi shook her head. “You ought to be icing that instead, you know.” Before Bulma knew it, Chi-Chi had walked right by her and into the little kitchen, and returned with a cloth full of ice. Mildly flabbergasted, Bulma took it from her and removed her foot from the bowl of water to place the ice on it instead. 

“Um...thank you,” Bulma said, thoroughly confused. Chi-Chi huffed irritably. While Bulma sat there still quite stunned, she desperately searched her mind for an explanation as to why or what had gotten into the other woman. Chi-Chi was so unlike herself right now, at least, unlike how she’d been for the weeks they’d been there. She glanced around the room until her eyes landed on a calendar hanging on the opposite wall. And then, it struck her.

 _It’s Gohan’s birthday._ All at once, everything made perfect sense, and she found herself feeling sorry for her old friend. Bulma understood all too well how terrible it was to sit alone on your kid’s birthday when all you could do was imagine they were with you. And if she’d thought Trunks or Bulla were gone all this time only to find out they weren’t...

She shifted in her seat, trying to hold back the tears while she imagined just how lonely her old friend must have been to have come here. “Hey, Chi-Chi? You wanna join me for dinner?”

Chi-Chi hesitated, then seemed to remember she was supposed to dislike Bulma and shook her head. “No. Goten will be home soon and he’ll be hungry.”

“The kids can eat leftovers,” Bulma pointed out quickly. “And besides, I’m sure they’ll be too worn out to talk for long. From training, I mean!” Not that Chi-Chi had any reason to suspect anything else, but better safe than sorry. Bulma watched as the other woman considered her before she finally gave a reluctant nod.

“You shouldn’t be moving your foot anyway,” she said. “I’ll go grab some things and be right back.”

An hour later and it was as if the last twenty years of resentment and mistrust had...well, okay, it hadn’t really gone anywhere, but Chi-Chi at least seemed less likely to throw her off a cliff. It wasn’t difficult to find their conversational footing once they got started, and Bulma was relieved when Chi-Chi finally allowed herself to relax a bit. No one else really understood what it meant to have Saiyan husbands and hybrid children, after all. She wondered how long Chi-Chi had gone without having anyone to talk to about any of it. 

But there was still a strain to their discussion, hidden beneath a layer of awkward pleasantries and the occasionally genuine laugh. It wasn’t easy to forget about the years between them, about the rift that formed the day Bulma unwillingly defected. For now, though, they could just be Chi-Chi and Bulma again, married to the two strongest and most ridiculous men in the universe.

“I _told him_ not to go into that chamber!” Chi-Chi yelled. “I told him that he had to stop all of that nonsense and be there for his family! And what did he say? ‘Oh, Chi-Chi, I promised not to go with Whis but you never said anything about the chamber’! That big oaf!” The Goku impression was odd coming from her, and Bulma laughed so hard her lungs hurt.

“Vegeta was going to take Trunks,” she said wistfully, once she caught her breath. “But he’d already missed so much school at that point. I didn’t want him forgetting everything by the time he came out! Nowadays I wonder if I should have let him go.” She trailed off and Chi-Chi nodded solemnly. It was difficult to talk about their kids without getting at least a little sad, and she missed the days when that wasn’t the case. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“Goten said you...when you found Gohan, you were trying to help him,” Chi-Chi broke the silence, her voice quieter than Bulma had expected. She nodded and Chi-Chi looked like she was about to say something else, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attention. Bulla and Goten stepped inside, looking about as disheveled as Bulma expected, and Chi-Chi promptly got to her feet.

“Just where have _you_ been, young man?!” she cried. Goten looked like a deer in the headlights. Or maybe a sixteen-year-old kid who just got caught trying to sneak his date by his parents. Either way, Bulma recognized the panic in his eyes and noted how utterly relaxed Bulla seemed by comparison. He opened his mouth to speak and failed miserably, faltering over his words. The poor guy clearly hadn’t expected to see his mother here.

Chi-Chi didn’t seem to catch the same clues Bulma did. “Look how filthy you are! You’re tracking all kinds of dirt into Bulma’s house! Have you completely forgotten all of your manners?!”

“I-I, uh...what are you doing—” he stammered, but Chi-Chi spoke over him.

“Apologize this instant!”

“S-sorry, Bulma,” he said.

“It’s alright! The floor’s already dirty,” Bulma said, trying to offer him a reprieve. It didn’t seem to matter.

Bulla slipped away and disappeared down the hall as Chi-Chi marched right up to him. She jabbed her finger into his chest twice as she spoke, “You’re gonna clean your mess up before you come home, do you hear me?!”

“Ouch! Okay, okay, I will!”

Chi-Chi stormed out of the house without a second look back, and Goten awkwardly fumbled out another apology to Bulma. She waited until his mother was well out of earshot before she got up from her chair to grab a cloth for him, limping slightly.

“Can I give you some advice? From personal experience, of course,” she said as she handed the rag to him. “Take a change of clothes with you next time you two go ‘ _training.’_ Oh, and you better be wearing protection! Vegeta won’t be very happy if he comes back to find out he’s gonna be a grandpa.” She winked and the look on his face definitely made up for the fact he forgot to give her back the rag when he left. 

That night she dreamt she was back in West City, except it was the same sprawling home she’d had before Frieza’s conquest. She sat outside, watching her children play. Bulla was able to run now, her chubby little legs moving her quicker than other two-year-olds, and her pretty blue hair pulled back with a bright pink bow. Trunks chased after her, the knees of his jeans stained with grass and dirt. Their sweet laughs were like music to her ears, and she instinctively reached out to take Vegeta’s hand beside her.

Only, he wasn’t there. She turned to look at the gravity chamber and saw it was in ruins. Fire spread from it and over the green grass, engulfing everything in its path. Horrified, she tried to run to her children but tripped over herself as the ground began to shake. Her hands clawed desperately at the grass below, but it was collapsing, sinking under her too fast. She slipped every time she stood, falling further and further away until she could only see the dirt in front of her and sky above. Trunks and Bulla were crying for help, crying for _her_ , but no matter what she did, she couldn’t stand up. _Vegeta!_ she cried. _Vegeta, where are you?!_  

She was still crying when she woke to someone shaking her. Her eyes shot open, and for a few terrible seconds, the hand on her shoulder felt part of the nightmare. Bulma jerked forward with a yell, but her blurry vision landed on her daughter. She had grown from the little girl with the pink bow in her hair, but those same blue eyes were staring at her. 

“Bulla?” she said, pushing messy hair back from her face. Her cheeks were wet, and she wiped them quickly. “What are you—”

“There’s something coming,” she said. “Goten felt it too.” That she sounded so sure was enough to worry Bulma, and she tossed aside her blanket. She stumbled a bit as though she half-expected the ground to collapse under her as it had in her dream, but found her footing on the solid floor below. 

“Where is he now?” she asked, her voice hoarse. 

“Outside. He’s waiting for us,” Bulla said. Bulma moved fast to put her boots on, wincing slightly when she tightened her laces against the bruise on her foot. The capsules she’d been working on were easy enough to grab on her way out. When she stepped outside the sky was still dark, yet people were hurrying to pack their things. Houses were collapsing back into their capsules, though despite the rush everyone was eerily quiet as they moved. They must have done this a thousand times before, she realized.

“Bulma!” Chi-Chi appeared at her side from the darkness. “Goten’s waking everyone else up. You two should cover up. Here,” she shoved scarves into each of their hands, “It isn’t much but it’s better than nothing.” Bulma’s fingers fumbled trying to tie the scarf around her head. Bulla only held hers, unmoving.

“Chi-Chi, what if it’s... _them?_ ” Bulma said in a hushed whisper. “If they find us—“

“Well they’re not _going to_ ,” Chi-Chi said, putting her hands on her hips. “You two just lie low and leave whatever fighting there is to us, got it?”

From the corner of her eye, she could see how her daughter bristled. As Chi-Chi rushed off to help someone nearby, Bulma reached out to take Bulla by the elbow. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised, but the younger woman pulled her arm away without so much as a glance in her direction.

“We don’t have time for this, Bulla,” she said exasperatedly. “We need to get to the camper.” The pair made their way through the disappearing village with only some difficulty. It didn’t escape Bulma just how much colder the glares had become. _They blame us,_ she thought, but she quickly shoved it aside. Now wasn’t the time to worry about what other people thought of her and her daughter. All that mattered was keeping Bulla _safe_.

The camper was parked on the other side of the village, but as they got closer, Bulma heard the sounds of angry voices arguing with one another. She reached out to stop Bulla and motioned for her to follow, and the two ducked behind a tent nearby. One of the voices belonged to Goten, but the others were harder for Bulma to place. Most people here never bothered to say more than two words to her anyway.

“—killed for those two!” one shrill voice was saying. Jilby, she thought, and upon a quick peek her suspicions were verified. “This is all their fault!”

“No it’s not, and no one’s gonna die!” Goten’s reply came quick. He was busy helping Jilby pack his equipment, but stopped long enough to reassure the group around him. “We have an entire forest to disappear in. They won’t find us!”

“And if they burn it?” another, deeper voice came. It was the orange-haired man. “Do you think _everyone_ can outrun the fire? Not all of us are as quick as you, golden boy.”

“It won’t come to that,” Goten insisted. “I’ll stay behind and keep them—”

“You most certainly _will not!_ ” Chi-Chi said as she approached, and broke through all of the noise easily. Bulma struggled to hear anyone else over her. “Goten, I mean it, you are not staying behind!”

“I might not have a choice, mom! It might be the only way to slow them down!”

“It’s _not_ the only way, though is it?” the deep voice said again. She craned her neck to peek around the tent and saw the huge man stepping closer to Goten. “Give them two over without a fight, and they’re more likely to let us go.”

Bulma could have sworn her heart dropped right into her stomach. She looked back to Bulla, ready to assure her again, but found that her daughter’s focus was on the same scene before them. There wasn’t a hint of fear in her eyes — just the quiet anger she always seemed to carry.

“No,” Goten said, standing up straight. “That’s not an option, Caff.” She returned her attention to the men. Her eyes darted to the camper just past them. It was too dark for her to see any clear pathways around them, and she doubted both she and Bulla could make it by without being noticed. 

“We’re all in danger,” the man called Caff groused. “You wanna trade all our lives for those two?”

“We aren’t trading anything or _anyone_. No one’s gonna get hurt, so long as we stop arguing and get back to getting out of here,” Goten said. The orange-haired man stepped closer to him again, but Goten didn’t budge. “Caff, let it go.  _Please._  We gotta get everyone out of here.”

There was a small group of villagers surrounding them, most of them stopped in their packing to watch. Caff ignored his pleas entirely. “I like you, golden boy, but it’s time to come clean. They’ve all got a right to know what you stole.”

“No one stole anything,” Goten said in a stiff voice.

“Stole _them_ though, didn’t you?” Caff moved even closer, and she could just barely hear him when he spoke again. “Yeah, you did. I’ve been to the cities — I know that one’s face. You took what don’t belong to you.” He was towering over Goten now, though the younger man stood his ground. “You took one of _Frieza’s_ pets, and they’ll pay _loads_ to get her back.”

Bulma was seething. Her hands shook against the cloth tent as she clung to it. Those gathered around Goten and Caff exchanged looks, and she shut her ears to what they were saying. Even in the darkness, Bulma could see Goten fuming; his shoulders were squared and his hands balled into fists at his side. “She doesn’t belong to Frieza,” he said firmly. 

Caff let out a bark of laughter that made Bulma’s blood turn to ice. “Fucking one of his pets don’t make it yours, golden boy,” he said, and Bulma could hear the nasty smile in his voice. “I saw you two out there.”

“Oh, you disgusting creep!” Bulma stood up, ready to march over there and give that dumb, ugly brute every ounce of fury that raged through her right then. Other voices filled the air, shouting and angry as the next. Chi-Chi was yelling too, at both Goten and Caff as they began to fight. But someone caught her by the wrist and pulled her back. She looked to see Bulla had also stood.

“It’s too late,” she hissed. “They’re almost here.”

As if on cue, the shadows in the distance turned into figures, and Bulma recognized their outlines easily enough. Armored Forces soldiers were heading for them, more than she could even make out in the pitch blackness. Almost immediately she heard an eruption of yells as she and Bulla moved quickly behind an old burned down house, ducking behind its concrete ruins. Goten and Chi-Chi had disappeared from their view, as had most of the villagers, and she could only guess they had vanished into the blackened trees off the pathway.

Captain Almone came into view, stopping mid-air above the center of what was left of the village. She surveyed the area carefully, and Bulma flattened herself against the wall as much as she was able, hoping that she and Bulla were well hidden. From where they were, she could no longer actually see the captain, but when the woman spoke, her voice boomed so loudly it seemed as though she was right next to them.

“Bring them back alive, and kill anyone who tries to stop you,” she ordered. “But should anyone wish to offer them freely, we’ll see to it they are _rewarded_.”

For the first time, Bulma felt truly desperate. She watched as the soldiers began to spread out, and her ears began ringing from the sounds of fighting. Numbly, she turned her head to look at Bulla. She wanted nothing more than to hold her, to promise again and again that no harm would come to her, but her stomach twisted at the thought. How could she promise that? She didn’t know how to fight. She didn’t even have any weapons on her. _Where the hell are you, Vegeta?_ she thought. But he was nowhere to be found. He wouldn’t be there to save them, just like he hadn’t been there for twenty years. Whatever he was doing, it had damn well better be real important.

But even now her daughter showed no fear, nothing that would indicate she was the slightest bit worried. She looked thoughtful. Calm. _Determined._ Her breath was steady and her eyes were focused. She wasn’t the scared little girl crying for her mommy from Bulma’s dream. She was a woman now, and so much more like her father than her mother. _She’s a Saiyan,_ Vegeta’s voice came back to remind her. Hybrid or not, she was faster and stronger than Bulma would ever be. She could get away — she could find Goten and Chi-Chi, and all three of them could fight their way to...to anywhere, so long as it was away from here. Almone was looking for both of them, right? Well, Bulma knew she had to still be useful for _something_ then.

“Bulla,” she whispered, taking her daughter by the arm. She didn’t let go even as Bulla tried to pull away again. “ _Please,_ sweetie — I need you to listen carefully.”


	36. Eyes Up, Little Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Explicit sexual content inbound.

“ _Please_ , sweetie — I need you to listen carefully. I’m gonna distract them, and when I do that, you have to run,” Bulma said.

Bulla wasn’t sure she heard her right and shook her head. “You can’t seriously think you can just—”

Her mother cut her off. “ _Listen to me,_  Bulla. Don’t try to fight anyone, not yet. I know you’re strong but there’s too many of them. Stay with Goten and Chi-Chi,” she reached up and touched the side of Bulla’s face, brushing a strand of hair away with her thumb. “And when your dad comes back, make sure you tell him that if he doesn’t go save his _adorable wife,_  she is gonna kick his royal Saiyan butt all the way to New Namek.” Before she could react, Bulma pulled her into a hug and whispered in her ear. “I love you, sweetie.”

It confused her more than anything, and she had no idea what to say in return. The next thing she knew, Bulma was gone. She watched as her mother hurried around the tent, putting as much distance between them.

Part of her was angry that Bulma would leave her behind, that she’d make that kind of choice so rashly. When she looked back around the building and caught sight of Almone again, she had half a mind to ignore her mother entirely. She was stronger now, stronger than she ever had been before. Almone would never expect it, and she’d definitely never see _her_ coming. But then a sound came from where Bulma had gone and Almone went chasing after it.

Loathe as she was to admit it, her mother was right. There were too many soldiers now, she realized in frustration. The captain had come well outfitted, and the sounds of fighting reached Bulla’s ears shortly after. She moved quickly, creeping around the tents and heading into the same woods Goten and his mother had disappeared into. Frustratingly, she couldn’t feel Goten’s ki at all, then she realized he was likely hiding it, and she hoped she was doing an effective job at hiding her own. It was dark here among the thick trees. The branches blocked whatever light the moon was providing, and so she moved carefully. She groped blindly in the night, using touch to navigate herself between trees.

Suddenly, she felt a deep rumbling somewhere in her chest, and she felt heavy with overwhelming power. It reminded her of Frieza, though she wasn’t sure why, but the deep rattling in her bones came anyway and caused her to grit her teeth against it. She stopped to steady herself, reaching out to grab a branch. The branch was weak from age and snapped under her hand.

Stumbling forward, she lost her footing and slid down a steep hill that seemed to appear from nowhere. She came to a stop at the bottom of the ravine and gasped at the cold bite of water that struck her. Looking back, she could just start to make out flashes of light above her. The fighting must have gotten more intense, and she wondered if Goten was the source of some of those lights. But, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t feel his ki — that other feeling remained, settling inside her and making her skin feel sensitive to the touch. Bulla waded across the knee-high water until she found the bank. The cold water had gotten into her boots and caused the clothes it had managed to touch to cling at her skin. 

The trees were thinner here, and the moon’s light illuminated enough of the area for her to look ahead. She was at least a few dozen miles away from the old ruined castle, but it was the only thing she could clearly make out. Goten had told her that it belonged to his grandfather, and right now it seemed like the only logical place for any of them to go. Bulla walked quickly, keeping the sounds of battle at her back and forcing herself not to think about the aching in her bones. It had faded somewhat, but the memory of it lingered still.

The sound of rustling leaves caused her to stop. Something hard punched her in the small of her back, and she fell down against the forest floor. She cried out, more in surprise than pain, and twisted around to see that orange-haired man standing above her. “You’re a long way from your master, little pet,” he said.

“Touch me and I’ll break your neck,” she snapped.

“Don’t worry, I’m no golden boy. You’re far too soft for me,” he said with a laugh. “I’m just gonna take you home.”

He bent to reach out for her, but she was quick. She leaned back and brought both her legs up to slam the heel of her boots into his chin. He yelped in pain and staggered backward, then growled in anger. She leaped to her feet and immediately rushed him, slamming her shoulder into his gut and bringing her fist into his side. She struck two more times before he grabbed her by the hair and threw her into a nearby boulder.

“You bitch!” he roared and brought his leg up to kick her. Bulla narrowly evaded the blow and charged at him, using his knee to jump up and wrap her legs around his neck. She squeezed hard and brought her elbow down on the top of his head repeatedly, striking him as he stumbled around. He thrashed, his big hands clawing at her until he finally swung and slammed her into a tree. The action made her loosen her hold around him and the pair wrestled for control. He punched her in the jaw and his hands went to her neck while she was momentarily dazed.

“Suppose to bring you back unharmed,” he growled, his grip tightening so hard she could barely gasp for air. “But something tells me the captain won’t mind if you’re a little roughed up.”

“Caff!” Goten’s voice barely registered to her. What she did register was her enemy’s distraction. _Your enemies will certainly move quicker than that,_ Vegeta’s voice reminded her. So she just had to be faster. Bulla grabbed both of his hands and yanked them as hard as she could, and the sound of his bones snapping ripped through the air. Then she lunged forward, headbutting him to knock him onto his back. She was on top of him then, one knee pressed into his neck. The pain from his broken fingers kept him from gaining any purchase on her, and he struggled underneath. Distantly, she heard Goten’s voice again, but whatever he said was drowned out by the man’s gurgles. She pressed down harder until she heard another snap.

“ _BULLA!_ ” Goten grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her away. By then, though, the deed was done; the orange-haired man gave one last sputtering cough before he died. She’d seen plenty of men die before, though never had she been the one to cause it. Bulla had rarely felt especially sorry for those killed; Char left her feeling empty, and even Yamcha’s death barely affected her. Frieza usually laughed when he killed, and now she knew why. She’d never felt so...satisfied before. She felt more powerful than she ever had before in her life. _See how much stronger I am, Frieza?_ she thought as she wiped her cheek off. _And_ _I will only get stronger._

She looked up to find Goten staring down at the dead man in silence, and she rose to her feet. “I told him what would happen if he touched me,” she said calmly. “He had his chance.” Goten said nothing for a long moment, only stared down at the corpse before he finally turned to look at her again. The expression he wore was one she was familiar with. On other faces, and often directed at Frieza. She didn’t know what to call it, but his eyes shifted behind her and the expression faded. 

“Come on,” Goten’s voice was hoarse. “We have to go.”

He took one last look down at the dead man before he moved and she followed after him. They walked for what felt like ages, both silent until the forest thinned again and the blackened ground became softer beneath them. She watched him the whole time, confused by the shift in his demeanor. He’d never given her the cold shoulder before, especially not since they’d started sleeping together. Yet for some reason, killing that man seemed to have bothered him. _But what did he expect?_ She thought, angrily. _Why else would I train if not to kill?_

As they went, however, his icy exterior started to melt. She caught him glancing at her now and again, and she knew he wanted to say something, yet he never did. By the time they reached the castle’s courtyard, he seemed to have decided on something, and his gaze had softened the next time he looked at her. The castle itself looked even worse up close; the walls had crumbled in places, leaving large chunks of stone on the ground. Goten led them further into the ruins, pausing only a few times to check around corners as they went. They made it to the main hall and Bulla paused to take in the sight. It was massive, with ceilings taller than even the ones on Frieza’s main ship. Truth be told, the sight made her more uneasy than she’d have admitted. The ceiling was too dark for her to see where it ended, and with so many stones lying around, she imagined how much of the place fell apart every day.

“You okay?” Goten was beside her, looking at her curiously.

“Of course I am,” she said curtly. He reached down to take her hand, but she pulled it away before his fingers could wrap around hers. “What are you doing?” she asked, a bit taken aback. 

“I...nothing. This way,” he murmured, turning them down a corridor she hadn’t noticed before. They weaved through several similar corridors, each as large as the last. Whoever his grandfather was, he seemed to enjoy having lots of space to move around in.

Finally, he stopped at a large door and pushed it open enough for the two of them to slip through. It shut behind them with a loud thud, and he moved to light the two torches on either side of it. There was a large bed against the wall in the center of the room, flagged by huge chairs on each side. Everything looked like it was covered in several layers of dust.

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked.

“We split up for the night. Mom about threw a fit when I left, until I told her that I had to go back for you and Bulma. But when I got there, you were gone and Bulma was...” _Dead?_ Bulla thought, her mouth tightening. It wouldn’t come as a surprise. “She was giving them a pretty hard time, so they just loaded her up into this weird pod thing. I tried to get to her, but I...” he hesitated again and looked away, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Bulla. I wanted to save her, it’s just that...there were too many of them. And I sensed that something else was coming, something way stronger than just me. Then when I realized they didn’t have you, I thought...”

Bulla busied herself with the cloth on the bed, fingers brushing over it lightly. It was so old that it had lost almost all of its color. “She stayed behind on her own,” she said, her voice oddly tight. “She wanted to distract them. Besides, I’m sure Vegeta will go get her. She promised to give him hell if he didn’t.” There was silence between them, and Bulla continued to examine the cloth closely. Once upon a time, it had most likely been a deep red with ornate patterns. Now, it was pinkish and whatever patterns it had were mostly faded into the occasionally visible swirl.

Arms wrapped around her from behind, drawing her focus away from the blanket as Goten pulled her back against him gently. The touch made her tense up, her jaw setting as she stood there, though she reminded herself that this wasn’t the first time he’d taken liberties. Not even a few days after they’d started sleeping together had he begun holding her unprompted. It would have reminded her of Marron if he wasn’t so hard where she was soft. 

His face buried itself in her hair and he pressed a kiss on the top of her head. It was a sweet kiss, chaste in its intent, but she reached back to touch the side of his head, her fingers tangling into his hair. She tilted her head, guiding his mouth to her neck. Goten complied easily, his lips pressing into her skin and making her shiver slightly. It wasn’t difficult to shift the tone in this kind of interaction; she knew what to do to excite him, to get him right where she wanted him. Her mind wandered back to the look he’d given her after she’d killed that man, and she wondered if he’d forgotten about it. _That’s good, though,_ she thought. _Better that he forgets about it. Better that he stays loyal._

Loyalty. Frieza had taught her how to gain it, in his own way. Comforts of the flesh were easy to provide. When she first kissed Goten, she couldn’t explain _why_ she’d done it. She just wanted to, for seemingly no reason. It made no sense. Something in her gut turned over when she saw him under her, and she’d been overcome with a need she couldn’t explain. So she took what she wanted without a second thought, and relished in his eagerness. But then she realized _she_ had enjoyed it far too much, and the feeling surprised and confused her. It wasn’t until later that it became clear to her why she’d been so invested.

Everyone in the village hated her, including his mother, and it only made her more spiteful. Bulla hated the citizens of West City for loving her, but she found she despised these little villagers and their resentment even more. He didn’t hate her, not yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he might. Before that dead woman’s name would guilt him into it and their whispers would get to him, and then he’d abandon her. And she wasn’t going to let that happen.

His hands were at her hips now, and she could feel him hardening against her backside. The kisses had become more persistent, his touch becoming more urgent with desire. _He’s not my type,_ she thought. _If he wasn’t half-Saiyan, he’d be a nobody. Some pathetic little farm boy._ The fact was she needed Goten to be hers only because she needed his strength, and that was it. _He’s useful, that’s all._   _At least he’s kind of cute._ It wasn’t difficult, either. He was just a man, and he clearly wanted her — rather, he wanted the thing between her legs, she reminded herself. If that’s what it took to keep him on her side, then he could have it. Her body was a tool to be used, as Frieza often reminded her. 

Goten isn’t Frieza though, something in her mind reminded her. He didn’t really make her feel like a tool being used, and Bulla tried to ignore that. She also tried to ignore how warm her cheeks felt, how her skin prickled under his lips, or how, when his hand slipped into the front of her pants, his fingers sent chills down her spine so effortlessly.

The more she thought about it, the less it made sense to her. Goten’s touches lingered on her, careful yet never making her feel like he considered her breakable. _He’s not like Marron either_ , she thought distantly. Marron was almost too gentle, too timid with her, treating her like she was made of porcelain. Goten knew she was stronger than she looked. And the liberties he took were...acceptable, she decided. He had her on her back now, partially naked on the edge of the bed with her legs spread. He trailed kisses down her body, from her neck to her stomach to further down. The first touch of his tongue made her legs twitch, and she gasped when his mouth went to her wetness. His tongue worked her with such intensity that when she climaxed, her whole body shook. 

He knew when to surrender to her every time; Bulla was always on top, always the one leading the next move. She wanted to face him, to remind herself just how unlike Frieza and Marron he was, in case the things he did wasn’t enough. They’d adjusted accordingly so that she was on his lap, straddling him with her knees on either side. She guided him into her just as she’d done every time, and when he was fully inside, she saw stars behind her eyes. He held her by her hips but let her set the pace, let her adjust to him before she began to bob up and down. His fingers twitched and she knew he wanted more, faster, harder — but he never once took over. As ever, she remained in control.

He knew what she liked, he knew what she didn’t like. His hands stayed where they were until she took one and moved it for him, placing it under her thigh. Only after Bulla gave him permission did he move with more purpose, driving into her more insistently than he had before. And even then, even when he was so focused on burying himself as far into her as he could, he didn’t forget about _her_. He brought his free hand between them and rubbed at her, his thumb stroking her just a couple of times before she came again.

Goten held her close and she felt secure, though she’d shove the thought aside as soon as it manifested. His arms wound up around her and his forehead would meet hers as his hips began to stutter and slow. Then he rolled himself into her languidly, quiet gasps and moans escaping his mouth, and she gave in to that urge to kiss him as he came. He seemed to enjoy whenever she did that, and he’d hold her a little tighter every time. 

They’d do it twice more before the night was over. By the time sunlight was beginning to creep through the window, they had thoroughly exhausted themselves. The dust and dirt from the bed had more or less been shaken off and most of it now clung to their sweaty skin. The bed itself was far from comfortable, having lost most of its cushion years ago. But neither seemed to care much about any of that right then. Bulla rested against his chest, her head nestled just below his chin. This part was sort of nice, she admitted to herself. She enjoyed the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, and how she could hear his steady heartbeat under her ear. Both remained quiet, and she felt the rising and falling of his chest become slower as he drifted off to sleep, though she remained awake for a while longer.

Goten was hers, she’d made sure of that. He would be hers as long as she needed him. And when she was done with him, she’d put him aside because, in the end, he didn’t _really_ matter. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about the way he’d looked at her earlier? And then what made him change his mind? He’d seemed more inclined to touch her than before — he tried to hold her hand, had been far more affectionate, and that thing he did with his mouth...none of it made sense to her. She turned her head to look up at his sleeping face, and she glared. _He’s not my type,_ she thought again. _He's just useful_ _._ To drive the point home to herself, she moved off of him and fell asleep on the other side of the bed.

Bulla woke up in the early afternoon to Goten gently shaking her. Both were groggy, and Bulla felt more sore than usual. Between how uncomfortable the bed was and how roughly he’d slammed into her the night before, she had to work to hide her discomfort. Once they’d eaten from the small pack he’d brought, he rushed them out of the castle. The sky was cloudy and gray, with shafts of sunlight peeking through them. A quick dip into the icy cold waters nearby ensured the dust, grime, and stench of sex were washed away before they set off again.

“We’re gonna meet with the others near Mount Paozu,” he explained, wringing out his shirt. “We’d get there a lot faster if we flew, though. Think you’re ready for long distances?”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” she said dryly. Her clothes were still a little wet, and she shook lightly when the wind blew.

“I can carry you instead if you want,” he said. “I don’t wanna wear you out too much.”

She scoffed at him. “Why would flying wear me...” There was a look in his eye that made her realize he was teasing her. He must have noticed the way she winced when she sat on the rock by the stream, and she scowled at him. “Oh, _haha_. Very cute. Let’s just go.” He began to smile, but she turned away before he saw the warmth in her cheeks.

Despite everything they did in-between, they really had trained quite a lot. She picked up on flying easily enough, much faster than she’d expected to, although they’d always practiced low and remained close to the village. Now there were no restrictions. They flew high above the clouds to avoid potentially being seen by anyone below. She wouldn’t let him see how uncomfortable she was; instead, she focused on matching his pace. 

They had been flying for only a short time when she suddenly felt it again — that heavy weight of power settling somewhere in her stomach. It was distant but so strong that it felt as though it was right in front of her. She came to a halt, her eyes searching the sky wildly as if she’d be able to see where it was coming from. Goten must have felt it too by the way he had joined her in the search, then his eyes found her face and his brow furrowed. 

“What _is_ that?” Goten said. 

 _Frieza,_ she almost said. But it couldn’t be. “I don’t know,” she said instead. She could have sworn she saw something in the corner of her eye, but when Bulla turned her head to look it had gone. As suddenly as the power had come, it went away almost as fast. They looked at one another, unsure of what to do.

“We should be close enough to head down,” he finally said, uncertainly. “I think it’s raining, though.”

Indeed it was. They were soaked within a few minutes of going beneath the clouds, and Bulla shivered against it. Flying through the storm was almost worse than simply walking, but she wasn’t willing to be the one to complain about it. Even with all the rain, however, she could see how different this area was. Rolling hills and steep rock formations, all covered in green, made up the vast majority of their surroundings.

Mercifully, they didn’t need to travel for long. Goten led them down a valley but came to a sudden halt before they came around a rocky arch. He put his arm out to stop her, then motioned for her to follow him to the ground. Once they landed, he ducked them both behind a massive boulder.

“There’s something up there,” Goten said. “Bulla, hide your ki — quick!”

They crept along the rocks and crouched down into some bushes. The smell of roasting meat reached her, but it was mixed with something truly foul. Her nose wrinkled against it. As they got closer, the smell only got stronger, and now they could just barely hear voices through the falling rain.

“...weak, like the others. Starting to get bored now,” one voice was saying.

“It won’t be long before the king gives the order,” the other said. “Once we’ve secured the prince.” Bulla could tell that one belonged to a woman.

“And when he learns the truth? Then what?” the deeper voice said. 

“Who cares? It’ll be too late by then,” said the second. She looked to Goten and he shook his head at her, almost as if he read her mind. It was too dangerous to risk peeking through the bushes, even with the rain offering some obscurity, and she could tell the voices were beginning to move away.

“We still need to find the girl,” the woman continued. Bulla was suddenly _very_ tired of being a target. “And the other half-breeds. Until we do, the king won’t act.”

“Waste of time...ask me. This prince...don’t like him...”

Their voices were beginning to fade, and Bulla strained to hear them. She leaned forward, but Goten’s hand on her shoulder kept her from going much further. “...matter what you...still the prince...”

“...fine without one...he returns, we’ll see...”

The two figures rose into the sky and took off, flying so quickly that Bulla could barely make out their forms in the distance. After only a minute, Goten moved first, stepping away from the bushes and letting out a surprised gasp. When Bulla emerged, she saw why. Several bodies were strewn about, with smoldering holes through their chests and stomachs. The rainwater mixed with blood in the grass, which trailed down the muddy slope. Even without looking too hard, Bulla recognized enough faces to know they were from the village.

Goten frantically went from body to body, murmuring to himself in a panic, and she knew he must have been looking for his mother. Bulla stood by, watching him closely, but did nothing herself. What could she do? She hated these people. Their deaths meant nothing to her. _They_ certainly wouldn’t have grieved for her if the situation was reversed.

“My mom...she’s not here,” Goten said, though she couldn’t tell if he was relieved or even more stressed.

“So she got away,” Bulla said plainly, though not unkindly. “Or she went with a different group.” Goten considered her for a moment before he nodded. 

“We should bury them,” he said.

She frowned. That was the last thing she wanted to do. “We don’t have time,” she said. “If your mom got away or went with another group, those two might find her.” Her argument made enough sense that Goten reluctantly agreed, although he wasn’t pleased with it. They left quickly after that, with Goten taking a substantial lead ahead of her. A burst of light later, though, and he was hurtling into the side of a cliff. It was so unexpected that for half a second, Bulla wasn’t sure what she’d just seen. Hands wrapped around her wrists and pulled her to a stop, yanking her backward and twisting her arms so that she couldn’t move. Whoever had her was so strong that it hurt as she tried to squirm away.

“Told you I felt something,” the woman’s voice came from behind Bulla.

“You sure this is her, Tollash?” A man appeared in front of her, burly armed with a face full of stubble. “The boy looks _way_ more like him. This one barely does.”

“Did you even look at the earthling, idiot? This is her alright,” the woman said again. “Go get the other one and let’s get out of here.”

Bulla pulled at her arms, writhing against the woman’s grasp but she didn’t budge once. The man shrugged and disappeared from her view, and the woman — Tollash — shook her roughly. “Quit squirming, princess,” she said. “We’re here on your father’s orders.”

She stopped for a moment, unsure if she should believe the woman or not. “Bullshit,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Her wrists already felt sore and weak, but she tugged again anyway. “He wouldn’t _send_ anyone.” Admittedly, Bulla didn’t know Vegeta that well, but she was pretty sure he would have come for her himself.

“Believe us or not, he sent us to come get—”

Another burst of light flew by them, only this one was much more focused and contained. Bulla looked down to catch sight of the man fighting with... with _something_. It was too bright and too quick for her to see properly. All she could really discern was the shimmer of gold shining through the falling rain. 

“What the?! Ruco, quit playing around!” Tollash shouted, but her partner didn’t seem to hear her. That bright thing was relentless in its attacks, hitting Ruco from multiple sides at once. Every now and again Ruco would get a strike in but would be met with another twice as hard. In her distraction, Tollash’s grip loosened ever so slightly, though it was enough for Bulla to wrench one hand free. She threw her elbow back and up, landing it right into Tollash’s nose so hard that it caused her to jerk her head back and release her entirely.

Bulla just barely missed being grabbed a second time, practically throwing herself to the side to avoid it. “Just calm down already! We’re not here to hurt you!” Tollash yelled, but Bulla kept her distance. 

“You expect me to believe that? You attacked us, remember?!” Bulla snapped back.

“Call it a traditional Saiyan greeting,” Tollash pinched the bridge of her nose and smirked at her. “You hit hard for someone who can’t fight.”

Saiyans. It made sense, she realized as she glanced back at the pair fighting. “I _can_ fight,” she said, perhaps too confidently.

“There’s no need to try and save face,” Tollash crossed her arms. “And like I said, your father sent us. Why would I even _want_ to hurt you?”

“What’s the truth?” she said, ignoring the other woman entirely. Tollash stared at her in silence. “I heard you already, so just tell me! What is it you’re afraid of Vegeta finding out? Or should I just tell him everything I heard _myself?_ ”

Tollash didn’t answer. Instead, her smirk widened and she fell into a fighting stance. A second later and she charged at Bulla, much faster than the younger was prepared for. Her arms came up to block a moment too late, and she flew backward to be met with a heel in the middle of her back. She wasn’t even sure if she’d had time to think about what happened, let alone cry out. The muddy ground came up fast on her, and she hit it with a squishy thud. 

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Tollash said, landing a few feet in front of her. “You have the same bad habits as your father, you know. You really should learn how to control that mouth of yours.” Bulla raised herself enough to throw her hand out, but the ki blast she sent Tollash’s way was easily knocked aside. “Sorry for the reality check, princess, but you’re honestly no match for a Saiyan warrior. I’m sure the prince will understand.”

Her spine was on fire, and the strain of holding herself up was too much. Bulla’s arms felt oddly weak, and she shook as she slid back down. Just as Tollash got close enough to touch, however, she struck from the side and sent flying into the trees. That light was in front of Bulla now, and it crouched down to grab her under the arms to pull her up slowly.

“Hey, you’re okay,” she heard Goten’s voice saying, but when she looked up she saw a lot of _yellow_. In place of his black eyes and hair, he had blue eyes and blond hair. It was a completely, utterly bizarre sight. “Toughen up, come on. We gotta — hold on.” He turned so that he was in front of her to meet the two Saiyans, and Bulla stumbled backward to get out of the way. Her movements were too rigid, too stiff for her to move very quickly. It felt like wherever Tollash had struck had made her legs feel like they were made of jelly. Curses fell from her mouth as her knees shook from her own weight.

Tollash’s laughter made her turn back around, and she saw they had relocated to the sky. The rain was still coming down, even harder than it was before, but she could still clearly make out their forms. Ruco and Tollash were on either side of Goten. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but an instant later and the same golden light that surrounded Goten now surrounded them too. It seemed to take him by surprise, and the subsequent attacks were so powerful that the puddles of water rippled from the shockwaves alone.

Bulla struggled to keep up with the fight, but it wasn’t long before she realized his being outnumbered was certainly working against him. He went from having the upper hand to struggling to handle even one of them. At one point, Tollash grabbed him from behind and held him in place while Ruco unleashed a barrage of blows into his gut. Bulla’s own stomach twisted at the sight, and without a second thought, she was in the air again.

“Stop it!” she yelled, throwing a ki blast at Ruco. It hit him right on the arm and caused him to at least pause in his attacks. He turned to meet her face with the back of his hand, the force of which sent her rushing into the side of a mountain. She heard a loud crack, and she wasn’t sure if it came from the rock or her own bones. Bulla vaguely heard Tollash yell at him, but she’d been knocked so far into the nearby rocks and was too dazed to hear what was said. Her ears were ringing and it felt like her brain had been rattled around in her skull.

She blinked to clear her head, but she must have blinked for an awfully long time. The next thing she knew, there was another shock of light filling the sky and more yells. Who was yelling, she had no idea. Everyone sounded as though they were underwater. She blinked again and the next time her eyes opened, she’d been pulled from the rocks. Someone was holding her, but she could just _tell_ it wasn’t Goten. When she began to struggle, however, she heard Goten’s voice. Her eyes opened to find him looking at her, but he was behind her and holding someone else. Another woman, in fact. She looked like the angriest woman alive.

But if Goten wasn’t holding her, who was? Bulla fought against the urge to blink again and tried to raise her head. She wished she hadn’t. Even without the mask, she knew those arms all too well.

Terror gripped her in an instant and she began to thrash around, desperately trying to escape his arms. Goten’s voice was barely audible over the furious pounding of her heart and her own yelling. She tried to use her legs to kick him, but she couldn’t even feel them, let alone lift them. She tried to use her fists, but her fingers wouldn’t curl — when her open palms smacked into him, they did very little to loosen his hold. Her back hurt, her head hurt, everything hurt. But she _needed_ to get away from him.

“No, no, please,” she said, though she didn’t recognize her own voice. “Please, don’t, _don’t!_ Goten, please!” He’d take her back, she knew he would. It was over. She’d had her freedom for a time and it was over. “Please!” she yelled again. Begging never worked before. He was ignoring her now just as he always ignored her. But the more she fought, the heavier she felt. Eventually, even her eyes refused to stay open. She was still pleading weakly as she closed them, and for a moment, Bulla could have sworn she heard Frieza laughing at her.


	37. Thought Contagion

All of the whispers came from outside. It was the first thing he noticed when he realized he could notice and realize things again. Most voices were largely unfamiliar, but occasionally he would hear a man’s voice and it would pierce through the fog of his mind. He knew it well enough to know he knew it, but he didn’t know it well enough to _know_ it. But he knew that would change soon enough.

One day, that knowable voice was gone and he was alone. _I heard the prince went himself. So he joined us after all? Seems so._ Wait. Joined who? Who were these people? _Well, crap, now I owe Scalli my rations. Idiot, you deserve to lose if you bet that stuff!_ The whispers faded away, and he was alone. His mind felt like it...well, it _felt_ for one. That was different. New, even. He wanted to stretch his fingers, but he wasn’t sure if he actually did so or just thought about doing so. All he could do was think about doing things while maybe knowing that he might not have been doing them after all though he _did_ want to very bad. Badly? Bad. No. It was definitely badly.

Kami. He had way too much time on his hands. He wondered how long he’d wait until he received new orders. Until they let him out. They were punishing him for something, he knew. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to know what for. Or maybe he did know and he just couldn’t remember it. So much more time would pass by him.

He was alone again. And actually, he had no idea what was up with that. With time. He thought briefly — briefly? Brief? Briefs. Wait, what the hell? Nevermind. He thought briefly that that should have worried him, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Worried. What even was that? _Prince came back. So I heard._ Another thing he wasn’t sure about was why he didn’t like these voices in particular. _He brought that earthling woman with him. She’s annoying. And loud._ Oh, _yeah_ , he actually hated these voices in particular. _Hey, did he move? I don’t think...oh, wait, yeah. Can he...hear us? How have you idiots never been in the tank before?_

They went away, and he was alone again. Only, he wasn’t really alone for long. Voices from before came — not the familiar ones or the ones he wanted to hear. Not that he knew what he wanted, or whose voices those were, but he still _wanted_ and that was better than not wanting, he thought. They put something on him at some point, something on his face that felt the same but different from the other thing that was on his face before. Things started to fall in place, to explanations he didn’t know existed. Briefs. He knew that word. No, not just a word. A name. His mother’s name. _His_ name. Briefs.

Everything else fell so quickly he hardly had time to comprehend it all. Parents, his birthday, a sister? A sister. He was supposed to take her somewh—no, no. Not anymore. Captain’s orders and orders were ord—also not anymore. Bulla, baby sister. She was small. She had always been small. She was so scared — of _him_? He wouldn’t have hurt her. Would he? No, he wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. She was just a baby and he was holding her wrong and his father corrected him. No...not anymore. She was an adult now. Still small, but grown. His father, his mother, his sister. He knew their faces.

There was another thing there too. Another thing he had to remember. Loyalty. He had to be loyal to...to...but now his brain felt like it was on fire, felt like the fire was burning through a fog he didn’t even know was there. It burned so much that it kind of hurt. It was like his mind was going faster than he could process, going and going and going all the way until he stopped trying to catch up. He stopped fighting it.

When realization returned, so did the familiar voice, but it came with another familiar voice that was more familiar than the other familiar one. They were speaking, but he couldn’t quite hear them. Couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Then, he could. _How long has he been in there? Weeks._ Only weeks? It didn’t feel like weeks. It felt like years. _My poor boy. I hate seeing that thing on him._ She sounded heartbroken, and his something in his chest ached too. I’m fine, mother, he wanted to say to assure her, but he didn’t know if he actually said anything. If he even could.  _Get him out of there, Vegeta. Bulma. I can’t stand to look at him like this! Get him out of there right now, I mean it!_

He’d almost forgotten how watery this grave was. Grave? Don’t be dramatic, Briefs. He wasn’t dead, was he? No, he wasn’t. Maybe. He actually didn’t really know. But getting out of there meant going to sleep for a bit. He knew that, because he heard those other voices he wasn’t as fond of return. He heard his mother’s voice giving them orders. _You better be careful with him! Just do as she says._ The last thought on his mind as he drifted off wasn’t of _those_ voices, or the images flashing through his head, or how dry he suddenly felt. It was of teal hair and deep brown eyes with flakes of gold in them, and a vague memory of her speaking his name.

 _Trunks._ Yeah, that sounded right.

When he finally opened his eyes, when he was finally able to, the first thing he noticed was that he was very...thirsty. His throat felt dry, and his lips cracked when he opened his mouth to speak. Far too quickly was someone right next to him, and his eyes struggled to make out the blurry figure beside him.

“Trunks! You’re awake. I knew you’d wake up,” the blur said. He could just start to see the blue coming into focus when another blur joined. That one was black and quiet. He blinked a few times, trying to actually see. He slowly rose and opened his mouth to speak, but wound up coughing instead.

“I-I need—” he started, then coughed again. Something was shoved into his chest and he looked down to see the jug of water. It was just water, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t the single greatest thing he’d ever tasted in his entire life. 

“How are you feeling?” his mother said. Right...his mother. Bulma Briefs. Scientist, genius, not-to-be-trifled-with. He knew that. But he wasn’t sure what he felt, because he wasn’t sure what to say. Odd? Off? Like part of his brain grew legs and went for a long walk and was just now getting back and was too tired to do much but sit down and watch TV for hours— “Trunks? Did you hear me?” He still hadn’t answered.

“Yeah, sorry...I heard you,” he said, a hand coming up to his face. “I’m fine.” That tasted like a lie, but he swallowed it anyway. It was even worse going down. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be sick from it, or from how quickly he drank the water. “I need to, uh...” 

Bulma knew what he was looking for before he could say it. “It’s the second door, right there,” she said, pointing. “Do you need help? Vegeta, help him—”

“No,” he said before she finished. “No, I can handle it.” His vision wasn’t quite there yet, but he pushed himself off the bed. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it felt like he hadn’t used his legs in a long time, yet he was compelled not to show any weakness. Especially not in front of his father. And he really didn’t feel _not_ fine. Maybe just not fine-fine. Kami, he hoped his legs weren’t shaking enough for either of them to notice.

Stepping into the bathroom, he’d just shut the door when the bile rushed up his throat and out of his mouth. It was mostly clear and watery, but it still tasted horrific. He remained bent over the large sink, chest heaving as he waited for the sick to pass. The running water helped mask some of the noise, though he was under no illusions that they were unaware of what he was doing. 

When he was able to compose himself, Trunks splashed water on his face and raised his head to look at his own reflection. He didn’t recognize it at first. Not least for the fact that his vision was still blurry and so the person in the mirror seemed more like a fuzzy outline he only kind of sort of a little bit recognized. He leaned closer to get a better look, eyes squinting as he examined himself closely.

Trunks’ lavender hair seemed to have been cut haphazardly. The sides were shaved and felt fuzzy to the touch, with visible lines nearly to the skin. Most of what was left of the length was on top, though even that was much shorter than before. The lack of hair drew attention to the changes in his face; dark circles under his eyes, and the two scars he now bore. His fingers touched the one on the center of his face, tracing it from the middle of his nose to the top of his lip. The one down his left eye seemed to have mostly faded, but when he turned his head into the light was more visible. 

He couldn’t spend all day staring at himself. Well, he probably could, but his own image left him feeling unsettled, and he spat into the sink one last time before he exited. Bulma looked at him, her eyes full of concern as she crossed the room to meet him. Her hands went up to his face and she touched his cheeks, her thumbs brushing just under his eyes. He remained still as she turned her hand over to touch his forehead.

“Feel any better? How’s your head? What are you thinking right now?” her questions came out rapidly. Her fingers tugged on his cheeks lightly and although he wanted to pull away, he knew it would just delay the inevitable.

“I’m fine, mom,” he said, again. It almost felt like the truth. “Head’s fine, too, but my cheeks aren’t doing so hot.” He tried to make a joke, except the delivery was too deadpan. She didn’t even notice, and it didn’t stop her from using his cheeks to turn his head. “I wasn’t really thinking about anything.” Who wanted to admit they were kind of stressing over their own reflection? Not Trunks, not in front of his dad of all people. Vanity hadn’t really been his thing before anyway.

“You were in that tank for a really long time,” she said. Bulma stopped turning his head every which way so that she could look straight into his eyes. It was like she was trying to read his mind with just willpower alone. “I’m sure it’d be fine for a full-blooded Saiyan to be in there so long, but for no one could tell me what kind of effect it would have on a human or a hybrid. Are you _positive_ you’re okay?”

Even if he wasn’t positive, he wasn’t sure what ‘okay’ was supposed to be right now. He wasn’t ‘okay’ by the normal standards of being able to see clearly, but he was ‘okay’ by the standard of being able to stand on his own two legs and he had stopped throwing up. He wasn’t ‘okay’ by the normal standards of having full memories instead of the half-hazy-dreamlike ones, but he was ‘okay’ by the standard of not being overwhelmed by them at this current moment. He was half-okay, so when he said, “Yes, I am,” it was only half of the truth.

Bulma believed him, but she didn’t at the same time. Half-belief in response to his half-truth. He could tell by the way she chewed on her bottom lip, though when she opened her mouth to volley more questions his way, his father offered him a rescue.

“Enough of this. Let’s go,” Vegeta said, moving for the door. “You have training to do.”

“What, are you nuts? He _just_ woke up, Vegeta, he needs more time to recover!” Bulma protested, placing a protective hand on Trunks’ chest. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated, for the third time. One of these times she’d believe him. “Training will help.” Will it? He had no idea, but if it’s what his father wanted to do, he had a hard time saying no.

Bulma wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Are you kidding me?! You Saiyans are totally insane! Training at a time like this? What about Bulla? Did you forget about her?” Vegeta paused at the door and Trunks could just make out the angry lines of his face when he turned. 

“Of course I haven’t,” he said. “You _know_ I haven’t.” There was something else to his tone, something that only Bulma seemed to understand. Trunks was left in the dark — figuratively, and a little literally given his still adjusting eyesight. Vegeta continued to walk, Bulma protested again, and Trunks just...stopped listening. He’d never had that talent before, now that he thought about it. It was extraordinarily simple to tune everything out. Had it ever been that easy? 

As they walked down the hallways, Trunks realized he had never seen a place like this before. The structures were unusual, alien and not at the same time. There were banners lining every other wall, each one a deep shade of crimson with an unusual symbol emblazoned in black on them. His sight grew gradually better as they went, and he realized that the men and women they passed all straightened themselves in their presence. Some referred to his father as ‘Your Highness,’ and Trunks thought he must have missed quite a lot while he was...well, not gone but not here either. Half-gone? No, not this again. It was too bizarre to think about for long, so he stopped.

Vegeta led them to a massive door and the two men in front of it moved out of the way quickly. Once it opened, however, Trunks hesitated. It wasn’t just a room sitting behind that door; it was an arena of some kind. The floor was clear, made of some kind of heavy-duty glass but still intimidating in its mere existence. Miles below was the earth, and once he stepped inside it felt like the air was significantly heavier here. Almost just like his father’s training room back home when the gravity was set to 100. Wait, when was the last time he was in _that_ place? He wondered if maybe his mother had a point about it being too soon.

 _Too late now,_ he knew. His father wasn’t the type of guy to accept a last-minute bailout. Trunks stepped inside, suddenly feeling much weaker than he had before under the immense pressure of gravity. When he raised his arms up to prepare himself, he didn’t recognize them as his own at first. They were different somehow. A bit paler, a bit thinner. Not his but indeed his, because they were attached to him. He shook his head. His brain was all over the place again, and clearly so was his body. Just how long had he been out? Too long. Way too long.

“Well, come on. Give me everything you’ve got,” Vegeta said. “I need to know just how _weak_ you’ve become.”

 _Weak._ _Gee thanks, dad._ He couldn’t deny it, but it still stung to hear. He wanted to prove him wrong, and it should have been like riding a bike. He should have been able to know exactly what to do like he always did. What it was instead was an exercise in muscle memory being absolute _bullshit_. The heavy air made it difficult to breathe and his body just wasn’t cooperating the way he wanted it to. It was like his mind said one thing — and another and another — while his limbs did something else entirely.

And Vegeta wasn’t holding back, not that Trunks was expecting him to. Their fight was more one-sided than he would have liked, but as they continued to spar, his strength slowly returned to him. It got easier to block out the thoughts, especially the ones distracting him. Even so, it wasn’t enough. Vegeta laid into him viciously, which was entirely in line with who he was as a person. At the very least, his father had yet to go Super Saiyan — then again, that might have been because Trunks himself was failing to tap into his own abilities. A small mercy on his dad’s part, though he cynically wondered if it was because Vegeta didn’t want to waste his own time. He always did prefer a real challenge over anything else.

So Trunks tried to ascend, tried to push himself into it. Every time he tried, no matter what he did, it was as if his body simply couldn’t do it. No. Not couldn’t. _Wouldn’t._ And Vegeta certainly seemed to notice.

“What are you waiting for?” his father barked at him. It was the fourth time he’d kicked him into the metal wall, and Trunks was losing steam faster than he’d like. He struggled to remove himself from the latest hole. “I know you can do better than that. Or have you really let _Frieza_ dictate just how strong you can get?" He scoffed, sounding more disappointed than anything else. “No son of _mine_ would be so pathetic.”

 _Pathetic. Pathetic?!_ He’d spent weeks in a tank, had a brain full of scrambled memories, barely remembered his own goddamned name, and could hardly breathe in this stupid, tacky ass arena.  _You’ve got to be kidding me._  If Vegeta’s goal was to piss him off, then it sure as shit worked. It was like a puzzle piece fell into place right at that moment. His mind stopped chattering at him and his movements became more fluid, more natural. More like himself. He quickly moved out of the way of the incoming fist aimed at his face. There was a dent where Vegeta was briefly stuck, and Trunks took it as an opportunity. 

Vegeta caught the strike with his free hand, and Trunks responded by bringing his knee into his father’s side. The Saiyan prince wrenched his other arm away from the metal wall and swung for him, and Trunks ducked underneath his arm, moving so that he was behind Vegeta. It didn’t last long — Vegeta went Super Saiyan, but he expected as much. When his father turned, Trunks was already bringing his fist up to strike his jaw. On instinct, he jumped back to evade the incoming blow, and Vegeta’s knuckles just barely missed his nose. Unfortunately, the action opened him up enough for a kick to the chest, and Trunks was sent flying across the arena. A kick from his father was bad enough; a kick from his father as a Super Saiyan was like _hell_.

A surge of energy swept through him the second he hit the metal, but it was different from anything else he’d felt in years. He was engulfed in light and felt stronger than ever. It was as if every fiber of his being remembered what to do at the same time, and when he shot up to meet Vegeta in the air, he didn’t have to think about his next move. Dodge the hook coming from the side, block the knee following it. Left swing, then a blocked kick to the abdomen. Aim for the knee, miss, adjust for a punch to the jaw, miss, take the gut punch, slam an elbow into the side of his head. He knew he had to change strategies, but his father made it impossible. Trunks would try to put distance between them, Vegeta would close it every time.

Despite his power increase, the Saiyan prince was still the superior fighter. It became more a game of blocking and dodging than anything else, just as it became clear that he was wearing down too quickly to keep it up for long. His father showed no signs of slowing down, especially since he still hadn’t touched anything beyond Super Saiyan himself. In a last-ditch effort, Trunks rushed Vegeta and teleported behind him at the last second, striking him in the back of the head with his elbow. It was enough to stagger his father, but not enough to throw him entirely off.

Vegeta spun downward, but grabbed Trunks by the ankle and yanked him down along with him. A second later and Trunks had slammed into the clear floor below, and he heard the glass crack. That was about all he could take. His power left him and his limbs quaked with exhaustion. He lay there for a moment, sore and beaten, and just now realizing exactly how hungry he was. Yet at the same time, he felt more clear-headed than he had in what seemed like ages. His father landed not far from him, and let out another disappointed sound.

“Giving up already?” Vegeta said. Trunks would have laughed if he thought he could. 

“Hungry,” he replied, groaning lightly. “Really, really hungry.” Starving might have been a better word for it, especially now. He pulled himself up to one knee, taking another pause to gather himself. Now that his mind was clearer, he couldn’t help but wonder if this whole thing had been Vegeta’s plan from the start. Trunks was about to ask that very thing when he felt it — another surge of power. But this came from somewhere else, and it was all too familiar. His bones ached, yet not as bad as they used to.

Vegeta felt it too. “Look,” he said. Trunks wasn’t sure what he meant by that. He looked up at his father and opened his mouth to speak. “ _Look,_ Trunks,” Vegeta said again. Confused, he dropped his gaze down and his eyes widened at the sight.

Even from where they were high above the clouds, Trunks could see the enormous portal-looking things off in the distance. They swirled in deep colors of black and purple, ominous and terrifying, and he knew the power was coming from them.

“What the hell are those?” he asked. 

“They’re the reason this ship is here,” Vegeta said, stepping closer. He crouched in front of Trunks, his voice lower than before. “Frieza used them to bring _these_ Saiyans here.”

“Wait, _Saiyans_? As in—”

“Shut up. And yes.”

“...huh.” Vegeta shot him a look, and Trunks could only offer a shrug. What else could he say? He _had_ missed quite a lot, and frankly, this might as well be happening. It wasn’t like adding a formerly extinct race of alien warriors to the mix was really _that_ strange at this point. His father scowled in silence for a moment before he continued.

“Kakarot went through one of them and took Frieza with him.”

Trunks frowned down at the portals below. “So Goku and Frieza are dead?”

“I doubt it,” Vegeta said. But if he was going to say anything else, he didn’t have time to before the door to the arena opened. A tall, bald man stepped in and Trunks was certain that if looks could kill, the one his father gave the man would have done so instantly. There was something oddly familiar about the man, though. Something Trunks couldn’t quite place.

“What do you want, Nappa?” Vegeta said irritably, rising to his feet so that he could glare at the man more effectively.

“King sent me to get you,” the man called Nappa said. His gaze found Trunks and the smile he gave made him uncomfortable. “Well, well...look who’s up and at ‘em. Spending some quality time with the old man, huh?”

“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you,” Vegeta snapped. “Get out. I’ll go in a moment.” He looked down at Trunks, who shakily brought himself to his feet. “Go back to your mother. We’ll talk more when I return.”

The entire walk back to the room had been a bit more surreal than before. Armed with new knowledge on who these people were and the fact that he was on a very real _Saiyan_ ship, he saw things in a slightly different light. He had vague recollections of his father boasting about Saiyan pride and Saiyan strength and what it was to be Saiyan royalty. Now, seeing it up close was almost unnerving. Without even trying he could tell everyone here was incredibly strong, and the way they _looked_ at him added another layer of eeriness he couldn’t quite explain.

“You’re back early,” Bulma said as he stepped in. “Where’s Vegeta?”

“He had to go see, uh...the king, I guess,” he replied. A short silence fell between them before he spoke again. “So...Saiyans, huh?”

His mother made a face, her nose wrinkled and her brows knitted together as she did so. “Your father says they’re from another dimension, but he wouldn’t say much more than that. I honestly don’t know what to think.” She shook her head and walked over to him, her hands coming up to touch his face again. She was examining him again, turning his head and watching his eyes. “Did the training help at all? How do you feel?”

As if on her words alone, his stomach growled and he remembered how hungry he was. “Please tell me there’s something to eat here,” he said. He wanted to tell her about the portals, to talk about what his father said to him and the things he was leaving unsaid. But he was famished and feeling weaker by the second. If he had any uncertainties about these Saiyans or his father’s status among them, however, his mother certainly did not. She made demands like she was a Saiyan herself, and Trunks was blown away with how easily she fell into the role. Then again, that had always been just like her. Even if Vegeta wasn’t their prince, Trunks was willing to bet his mother would have gotten her way regardless.

It was like he’d never eaten before in his life. He’d always had an impressive appetite, but this was unlike anything he’d experienced. He ate so much that he almost felt sick by the time he was done, and even then it didn’t feel like enough. 

“Jeez, you weren’t kidding when you said you were hungry,” Bulma commented as he pushed aside the empty plates and bowls. “Good thing they had enough food ready to go.”

“Yeah, good thing,” he agreed. He could tell she was watching him, though it wasn’t nearly as intrusive as others’ eyes had been before. Her gaze was softer, more tender in the way she searched his features. But when she reached out again, he couldn’t help pulling away. “Are you gonna touch my face again? Because I’m...I’d rather you didn’t.”

She withdrew her hands quickly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I...it’s just that I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long. And after everything that’s happened lately, I was afraid I...” she trailed off, her eyes drifting away. She looked sadder than he’d seen her since his father returned. Then again, he hadn’t really seen her that much. “It feels like it’s all happening so fast.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said. “About what’s happening. How did we get here? And dad...is he really...I mean, he always talked about it, but I guess I never really thought about it much. This...Saiyan thing.”

Bulma opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut abruptly. She glanced over her shoulder, to the closed door and to the window in the wall. “I can’t say much,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “Your father says someone’s always listening, so...I’ll say what I can. This ship — it’s definitely real, and your dad doesn’t really trust them, but...he says they might be useful for now. Frieza brought them here through some kind of portal.” His mind went back to the ominous-looking swirls in the sky, and he nodded.

“I saw those,” he added. “Dad took me to this arena and showed them to me. There’s an immense power coming from them, almost like—”

“Shh,” she hissed, shaking her head. He fell quiet. “Before I was here, I was with your sister, and Goten and Chi-Chi. You remember Goten, right?” It sounded familiar, it really did, but nothing came to mind. He shook his head, and she frowned. “Almone’s been looking for your sister and I. She found where we were hiding and I—well, she caught me. Your dad showed up before they could take me back to the city and I’ve been here ever since.”

“What about Bulla?” Trunks asked. When Bulma didn’t answer right away, he pressed again. “Mom, what about Bulla?”

“I...I don’t know,” she said. Something in the way she said it didn’t sound quite right, and he searched her face carefully. She was hiding something, but what? And why? “Trunks, believe me — I wish I could tell you. But I just don’t know.”

 _Someone’s always listening,_ her words reminded him in his head. He paused and then gave a reluctant nod. “I see,” said Trunks, and he leaned back in his seat. “You said Frieza brought them here. Does that mean they work for him?” She looked ready to answer when there was a knock at the door. It opened and a severe-looking woman stood in the entrance. Trunks rose from his seat and turned toward her cautiously, unsure of what to make of the look she was regarding them both with.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” she said curtly. “I was sent to inform you that Prince Vegeta won’t be returning tonight. He’s gone to retrieve the...his daughter.”

“ _Our_ daughter,” Bulma corrected her scornfully. “Why didn’t he just come here to tell us himself?” 

“That’s not my place to say,” the woman said. Her voice was tight and too cordial for her; each word seemed to catch in her throat to be carefully considered before she spoke. “But rest assured he will return, and that you’ll be treated with the same respect as him.” Her eyes flickered to Trunks’ and he could have sworn she would have thought a sewer rat more appealing to look at. She excused herself before either he or Bulma could ask any more questions.

“Unbelievable,” his mother muttered angrily. “I’ve never seen your father like this. It’s insane! It’s like he’s getting pulled into so many different directions, and these guys just won’t let up. It’s like they _want_ him to be busy all the time.” Trunks glanced at her and for a brief second, he saw the weariness for what it was. She’d changed too, he realized, since she left the city. “But he’ll be back soon enough. We should call it a night anyway.”

Trunks _wanted_ to ask questions. He _wanted_ to talk more, to find out as much as he could about these Saiyans and what they wanted from his father. And for that matter, what they wanted with their family. Just from the way that woman had looked at him, he got the distinct notion they weren’t exactly welcome here despite their relation to Vegeta. On the other hand, his mother was clearly exhausted, more so than she was willing to let on, and so he remained quiet while she retreated through another door. 

For Trunks’ part, sleep wasn’t coming to him nearly as easily as he’d hoped. Maybe it was because he’d spent so long being unconscious, or unaware, or whatever variation it was that meant he’d already gotten too much rest as it is. Hours went by before he gave up on the idea of sleep. When he exited the room, he expected to find empty hallways; instead, it seemed to be the same number of people through them. The two by the door he’d exited gave him a curious glance, but neither said anything as he walked away.

It didn’t seem to matter how late it was. The ship was as lively as it was before and as unusual as it was, Trunks wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting to find on his impromptu walk anyway. All he knew was that he needed to _move_. He returned to the arena and found it had several occupants now, each one as battle-worn as the other. They weren’t really training so much as they seemed to be genuinely attempting to kill each other. There was no one-on-one fighting here; every man was out for himself. It was almost mesmerizing to watch.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” a voice said from behind him. It stirred something in the back of his mind, and he tightened his jaw against it. “We Saiyans have always prided ourselves on our strength. It is perhaps our greatest asset, as well as our greatest weakness.”

Trunks finally found it within himself to glance at the bearer of the voice. What he saw made him nearly do a double-take — the man looked like a much older, bearded version of his father. If someone had told him that Vegeta had put on another disguise, he might have believed it without a second thought. But this wasn’t his father; the feeling he got from him was overpowering in its intensity.

“I take it he never told you much about his people, did he?” the man said, and Trunks felt his mouth tighten. It wasn’t a question, not really. He wanted to speak, but something was telling him to wait. It wasn’t his place, wasn’t his right to talk. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten whatever it was he’s told you?”

 _I can’t forget what I don’t know,_  he thought to say, yet didn’t. _Why am I waiting? And what for?_  “He disappeared when I was still a kid,” he finally managed to say, through some difficulty. “Can’t remember much from before.”

The man — actually, really, he had a pretty good idea of who he was — eyed him a moment before he motioned for Trunks to follow as he began to walk. Part of him wanted to ignore the invitation, but the other part had a curiosity that needed sating.

“Frieza is gone, but his absence has provided certain opportunities,” the man, his sort-of-grandfather said. “For countless years my people have been his slaves, forced to do his bidding on a whim. We were sent to many worlds, through many planes, to do the same thing over and over again: serve.” Wherever the king was leading them, Trunks noticed there were fewer and fewer people around. “Yet we were brought here just in time to see his end, and now...the possibilities are near endless.”

“Endless?” Trunks said. It was still difficult to speak for some reason, yet he continued to force it anyway. “What kind of possibilities?”

“The kind where our people are no longer servants and are free to make our own fates,” the king said. He turned them down a narrower corridor, the long hall ending with a large black door at the end. There were two guards standing on either side of the door, and they straightened as the king approached with Trunks in tow. “The prince has yet to decide whether or not he agrees with the notion. It seems he has found his own contentment in the way the world is now.” Trunks wanted to disagree, but couldn’t. It seemed entirely like his father not to concern himself with someone else’s business. “I imagine _you_ have a very different outlook on how things work here. After all, you are the one who was raised in it, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Trunks said, uncertain of what the king was implying. It was easier to speak that time, maybe because he was asked to answer. The idea that they wanted freedom from servitude didn’t seem so bad to him, though he wondered if there was a reason his father wasn’t as keen on the idea. _Then again,_ his mind argued, _it wasn’t like he’d been around this whole time himself either. He didn’t know what it was like._

They walked through the black door and Trunks’ eyes widened at the sight. It was almost like a prison deck of some kind; the cells were small and cramped, with see-through walls made from what he assumed might have been similar to the floor of the arena. The king continued to walk, and Trunks followed him automatically. Like his legs were moving while his mind was busy trying to absorb everything he was seeing.

“The prince insisted on taking prisoners rather than killing our enemies outright,” the king said, sounding almost bored as he spoke. “I had hoped we’d destroy the captain along with the rest of her army, but I understand she got away. Of course, that won’t happen the next time we meet her in battle.” His pace slowed to a halt and he motioned ahead of himself, allowing Trunks to move past him. “However, there was one of the captain’s soldiers that insisted she knew you. I’m sure my son already told you as much.”

 _No, he didn’t,_ Trunks would have said if the words hadn’t trapped themselves in his throat. His eyes caught sight of her hair first. Her back was to them, and the teal strands were pulled into tight braids that hung down past her shoulders. As he stepped closer, she turned her head just slightly and he could see the way she tensed. Then, realization crept into her face and she spun all the way around.

“Trunks!” Pasley exclaimed in disbelief. He stepped closer to the cell and she did too. “You...you’re...” she started, her hands coming up to press against the glass walls. “You’re alive. You _fucking prick_ , you’re alive.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Hello to you too,” he said. But his smile faded as he searched her face, and he turned to look at the king. “Why—”

“I wanted to see for myself if she was lying,” the king said, though Trunks wasn’t sure he believed him. But what reason did he have not to, his mind asked. “She claimed she was no friend to the captain and was merely looking for you. I can see she was telling the truth after all.” He turned to nod at a guard Trunks hadn’t noticed previously, and a few seconds later the walls to Pasley’s cell vanished. She looked between Trunks and the king warily before she stepped out, ignoring the hand Trunks offered her as she did.

“Come,” the king said. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with the both of you.”

Trunks _wanted_ to say no. He _wanted_ to ask what he could possibly want, why he would keep Pasley only to release her so abruptly, and he _wanted_ to stay put until he got those answers. But what he wanted and what he did were two different things; he followed the king, his body moving without his own consent. It was eerie, being able to see everything he was doing and not stop it. He couldn’t even voice his protests. When it came right down to it, he just wasn’t strong enough.


	38. Mice and Men

She was sitting on her balcony, humming tunelessly to herself when the captain and her brigade came back. Off in the distance, barely visible masses loomed overhead ominously among the clouds, like festering wounds in the sky, almost appearing larger than before. The whole city seemed to hold its breath as Almone and her Elite Forces flew by, and Marron watched each figure closely. They were fewer in number than when they first left, and she couldn’t tell if the pod they had contained Bulla. Though if it did, she couldn’t imagine why they would be taking it back to the keep.

Marron went for the door and Lancer was at her side in a moment. She considered going straight to the captain herself to get answers directly, but thought better of it. Without Lord Frieza, Almone’s dislike for her and Bulla was even more apparent; Marron had only made two appearances in the public eye since her companion’s kidnapping. She wanted to reach for the communicator sitting in her pocket, wanted to feel it and hold onto it in case it went off again. Any day now it would alert her, and she needed to be ready the moment it did. But as loyal at Lancer was to her, it was still far too risky. So she stayed her hand. 

Lancer walked a few feet behind her as she led them outside and across the gardens. Approaching Almone at all would be pointless; if she had indeed brought Bulla back, then she’d doubtless be busy tormenting the poor thing before returning her. If she hadn’t, then something terrible would have happened and her mood would be too dangerous to predict. Marron couldn’t imagine she would do anything as foolish as harm her or Bulla directly, though the longer Lord Frieza remained gone, the more likely it seemed.

Almone was losing control of the city, and of the situation with the Saiyans. Clearly, whatever Lord Frieza’s plans had been, he hadn’t shared them with the captain — or perhaps he never had a plan in the first place. Perhaps his absence was unintentional. If that was the case, then Marron could understand Almone’s stress. If he never came back, she had little chance of holding onto power for long. But should Lord Frieza return and find that Almone had failed to keep the seat of his empire intact, there’d be hell to pay. It was already bad enough that she’d lost his prized pet. 

 _And soon she’ll lose the other too,_ Marron thought to herself. _If ever does come back, the captain won’t make it out of the throne room alive at this rate._

Her pace slowed as she worked through her thoughts. She would only have so much time to put the pieces together, and if she missed this opportunity she might never get another. “Lancer,” she said and he rushed up to join her. “You’ve been at my side for so long now but I’m afraid we’re still almost strangers. Tell me more about yourself.”

He paused, clearly taken aback by her sudden interest in him. She caught how the tips of his ears turned pink. “I’m an open book to you, Miss Marron. Where do you want me to start?”

“Tell me what you did before you came to me,” she said. “My last carer was highly regarded by Lord Frieza himself.” Her last carer was Char, the man she thought she’d marry only to watch him executed before her eyes. She had truly loved him, and yet the memory of him didn’t sting as much as it used to. Part of her wished it still did.

“I...haven’t had the pleasure myself,” he said, shame touching his voice. “I was chosen by Commander Ryce. Before that, I was the top of my platoon, just below…” he hesitated, afraid to hurt her. Marron nodded her understanding. “I’d like to say that it’s an honor to serve you, Miss Marron.”

“Thank you, Lancer. You’re very kind to say that,” she said and offered him a fond smile. It caused his cheeks to redden slightly. Marron had no interest in lying to people, or in trying to manipulate them — that was always more Bulla’s area. But right now, with the way things were going, Marron knew beyond a doubt that her options were limited. With Elo gone to regroup with her parents, and Marron too well guarded night and day to communicate more frequently with them, she had to think and act quickly. Her parents would be there soon, and she needed to be ready. All it would take was having the right guard at the right time. Lancer was a sweet young man, and his attraction to her was too useful a tool to ignore. He would do whatever she asked of him, and do so eagerly.

 _This poor man,_ she thought as they came to a stop beside the garden’s koi pond. _But it can’t be helped._

“Your service has meant more to me than I can express,” she said. “I just wish I could say the same for...” she trailed off intentionally, but her fabricated shyness was effective. Lancer leaned closer, just enough to almost touch her.

“Whatever it is you want to say, Miss Marron, I promise I won’t tell anyone,” he said. He was so earnest, so eager to prove he cared.

“One of my carers...Sano, he’s called...he can be a bit...” she pretended to hesitate again, pulling her gaze away from his worried face. “It can be difficult to sleep sometimes. He’s...frightening.”

In truth, Sano was only frightening in his looks. He was around her age, but his bushy beard and the scars marring his face made him appear much older. He was a man of few words and fewer thoughts it seemed, and _completely_ loyal to the captain. He wasn’t unkind, but Marron was only his charge and that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. What was important was that Lancer seemed determined to save her from the imagined threat.

“I’ll talk to him and see about taking over his post for the evening,” he said bravely. 

“But if you work in the evenings, who will work during the days? I really do enjoy your company, and I can’t enjoy it while I’m asleep,” said Marron.

“I can do both,” he added in a rush. “There’s plenty of time to rest between the hours when you’re in Shrim’s care.”

She smiled softly. “I wouldn’t ask you to exhaust yourself, Lancer,” she said.

“Trust me — nothing would make me happier than to continue serving you any way I can, Miss Marron.” Lancer was a gentleman. Too gentle for this life or the role he’d been assigned. All of their carers were given strict instructions not to interact with either she or Bulla for a reason. Sentiment was dangerous, and it seemed Lancer had forgotten all of that since coming to her.

It should have troubled her how easily the role of the frail, delicate woman sold itself to him. He puffed his chest up and spoke proudly of how he’d go to see Sano himself and sort it all out. He assured her that she wouldn’t have another restless night again. His passion was so much that she understood why it excited Bulla so much to toy with people, to watch them twist themselves around. Even so, after he delivered her back to her room and strode off to make the arrangements, Marron felt guilt settle itself into her stomach. She  _understood_ the appeal, but it didn’t mean she enjoyed it herself.

 _Everyone will underestimate you,_ her mother’s voice said again. And everyone had, as it turned out. They likely thought nothing of assigning someone so young or impressionable to her. After all, she’d never been the one to make trouble. That was always Bulla’s job. Lancer, though...he was young and kind, and ambitious. Talented, too, otherwise he would never have been assigned as a carer. Maybe if she found someone else, maybe if she found a way to get to Sano...

 _It has to be him,_ she reminded herself. _No one else would dare dream about crossing Lord Frieza._ She touched absently at the communicator, her fingers tracing their worn buttons. The sooner it went off, the better.

Three days passed and nothing happened. When Almone’s men came to retrieve Marron, her first instinct was to be afraid. But of what? Paranoia threatened the corners of her mind, and she pushed it away. Her parents had survived this long without being caught, and Elo was too careful to fall prey himself. In that time, she’d also learned Almone had in fact failed to recapture Bulla, and the failure only frustrated her further. Likely, the captain simply had another use for her. Another way to exert control.

She was escorted to the barracks. It was a stark difference from where Lord Frieza typically stayed; his ship was an imposing but grand affair and his quarters on earth were much the same. The barracks, however, were for soldiers and soldiers required no comforts or spectacle. It was cold and impersonal, where men and women would come to train and become just as cold and impersonal. As Marron walked through the building flanked by four Elites, she could feel everyone watching her. It was rare for her to be so close to so many people, and her skin prickled at the thought. No one would dare touch her, even in Lord Frieza’s absence.

Almone’s office was a welcome escape, but only for a short time. The captain’s company was not one Marron could honestly say she enjoyed. The captain stood on the other side of a large desk, her back to the door even as Marron entered. All four Elites gave their greetings and exited upon her dismissal, and still, Almone remained where she was.

“I was so relieved to hear you’d returned to the city,” Marron said, filling the silence with ease. “We’re all very fortunate to—”

“Spare me the platitudes,” Almone said bitingly. When she finally turned, Marron could see the wounds clearly on her face. A partially healed cut down her cheek and the purplish remnants of a bruised eye. Something _had_ happened, after all. The ambush must have been worse than she’d heard. “I know very well what they’ve been saying about me, and I didn’t bring you here to listen to any lies.”

Marron offered a soft, rueful smile. “I’m sorry, captain. I can’t say I’ve heard the same — I’m often only told of your bravery and cunning as a leader.” Almone snorted at that but didn’t argue. She held her hand out to the empty chair beside Marron, who settled down into it. The hard cushion was far from comfortable, and Almone was tall enough that Marron was now forced to look up to see her.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that Lord Frieza has yet to return,” the captain began. “While no one can truly know what his plans are, what we do know are the expectations he has for his return. Expectations that have not been met.” There was something to her tone that Marron noticed, yet she couldn’t identify what it was. Almone stepped closer to her desk and leaned down on it, her hands pressed flat onto the metal surface. “Your companion’s disappearance has put me in a remarkably difficult position. It seems strange to me that her _kidnappers_ have managed to elude an entire army for so long, seemingly on luck alone.”

There was an implication there, one that Marron knew suggested Almone believed she was involved somehow. She glanced down at her hands as she brought them to her lap and shook her head sadly. “I had hoped she would have been found by now,” she said quietly. “I’ve missed her quite a lot.”

“Have you?” Almone said, and Marron looked back up at her in surprise.

“Of course. Bulla is all I’ve ever had,” she said. There was a sincerity in her words that was impossible to fabricate. Almone searched her face for a moment before she continued. Marron wasn’t sure if the captain believed her, and she didn’t like the way she was being scrutinized. But she wouldn’t break her own gaze.

“Recently we’ve had reason to believe that  _she_ has become a traitor herself, and that there’s another in our midst. Someone capable of feeding information to the other side without being found out.” Almone pushed off the desk and crossed the room to a window. Her hands clasped behind her back, her shoulders squaring. “They’ve eluded us for some time now, but they must have known it wouldn’t last forever.”

 _She thinks it’s me,_ Marron realized. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, but it was wholly untrue. Even if Marron had a way to contact Bulla, there was no information she could provide. Unlike her companion, Marron didn’t have someone like Yamcha on her side, especially with Elo gone. Yet despite knowing that, Marron couldn’t help but feel uneasy. If Almone really did believe she was involved, then it could make her plan that much more difficult to execute.

“They’d be fools to think you wouldn’t catch them,” she said, her tone even. “But I have to confess...I’m not sure why I’m here, captain. I’m afraid my knowledge of soldiers and spies is limited at best. I’m sure whatever input I provide would hardly be of use.”

“You said it yourself. Bulla’s all you ever had, which leads me to believe you _must_ have some idea where she’s gone.” 

The bluntness of her response took Marron by surprise. Almone never moved from the window, and Marron wasn’t sure what to do at first. She had to think fast before Almone had a chance to feel vindicated in the imagined guilt.

“If I had any idea about where she was, I most certainly would have told you,” she insisted. “I want nothing more than to see her again.” It was always easier to tell the truth, so she did. Almone turned to face her, a hard scowl crossing her features.

“I will never understand what Lord Frieza sees in _either_ of you,” she said angrily. “Liars and schemers, the both of you. You were never loyal to him, were you?”

“Captain, I—”

“Save it, _liar_ ,” the captain spat. “Or are you a schemer? Your own fiance was a traitor, after all. And Bulla too, it seems. Do you think I’m an idiot? That I can’t see right through you?” She slammed her fist down on the desk, denting it with her fist. Marron jumped a little in her seat. “His favor is the only reason I don’t have you dragged through the streets. But there are other ways to make you talk. We’ve found your little rats.”

The door swung open and in walked two Armored Forces. They were dragging someone with them, and for half a terrified heartbeat she thought perhaps it was her mother. The long blonde hair and a gag obscured the person’s face, and Marron remained frozen in place, unable to look away. But when they turned them around to face Marron, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. It was a man with long hair, definitely not her mother. She didn’t know this man —he was young and handsome, but recently beaten. Marron looked at him pitifully, then to Almone.

“Captain, I don’t understand what—”

“You know what this is!” Almone snapped. “ _This_ is one of your traitors! He admitted as much when we caught him.”

Marron tried not to appear as shaken as she felt. “I promise you, I have no idea who this man is! If he’s a traitor, then it has nothing to do with me. I am _loyal_ to Lord Frieza.”

Almone scoffed, then retrieved something from her desk. She stalked around it and threw it down on the floor in front of Marron, letting it land with a loud clang. It was a communicator, and she could see it was a newer model even under the chipped paint. While it wasn’t one of hers, she knew by its color who it belonged to — Bulla. This trembling man was one of Bulla’s contacts, and Marron silently cursed her friend. The girl was smart, very smart, but her recklessness had finally caught up with her. Except it wasn’t catching up to _her_. She’d left Marron holding the bag.

Her eyes flickered to the man and then returned to Almone, and she shook her head. “I assure you Captain, I don’t know what this means or what he—”

The man’s muffled, pain-filled scream interrupted her before she could finish, and Marron flinched at the sound of breaking bone. The soldier behind the man had struck him on the shoulder. 

“Captain, please, I swear I have no idea—” another scream and Marron closed her eyes, turning her head away from it. “ _Captain!_ ”

“You expect me to believe you don’t know who this is?!” Almone yelled. “Enough of your lies!”

The soldier kicked the back of his knee, and a snap rang through the air. Marron shook her head again, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as she could. The beating continued, growing worse and worse and Marron’s heart ached for the man. But she could not, and would not, take the blame. Bulla’s mistakes could not keep her from escaping. _Please let it end,_ she prayed silently. _Please, please let it be over._

By the time the man had gone silent and limp, Marron was shaking so hard she couldn’t control it. But Almone hadn’t won, and that was what mattered. As if she too had realized it herself, Almone bellowed in anger and the next thing Marron knew, she’d been slapped hard enough that she nearly fell out of her seat. Her hand flew up to cup her cheek, the feeling of the captain’s hand practically burning her skin. 

“Captain!” one of the soldiers gasped. Marron slowly turned her head back to look at Almone, tears stinging her eyes from the pain. The captain looked furious and somewhat surprised, but she quickly whirled around to face the soldiers. 

“Tell _no one_ what you saw, did, or heard in this room,” she hissed. “Or I’ll have your heads. Now get out, and take this filth with you.”

Neither soldier dared to look at Marron as they gathered up the dead man and hurried out the door. Marron’s heart pounded against her chest, worry slipping into her mind as soon as they were alone. Never would she have imagined Almone laying a hand on her, but now she saw clearly just how desperate the captain was. And the longer Lord Frieza was gone, the worse her situation would get.

Almone said nothing more to Marron, although she didn’t need to. Marron remained quiet as she was escorted back to her home, her mind alternating between cursing Bulla’s foolishness and wondering how long it would be before Almone’s control failed completely. She hid her face from Lancer as he took over escorting duties, though in hindsight she might have done well to garner more of his sympathy. _Is that what I think about now?_ she thought as she washed her face clean in the privacy of her bathroom. _How best to trick people? I wonder what my mother would say._

A week went by and saw Almone’s grip over the city tighten to the point of strangulation. Public executions became more frequent, and it seemed as though the captain saw enemies in everyone in every place. To her relief, Marron was left alone, although it came at the cost of extra guards posted around her day and night. Luckily, Lancer remained one of her most constant carers. It only eased some of her stress to know he was still at her disposal, despite the increased security. But the fact remained that if she didn’t do everything just right, it’d all be over.

The communicator alerted her after midnight, just when her eyes had begun to grow heavy. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around it, as they had been for several nights now, and initially, she thought it was only her imagination. But the blinking lights told her otherwise, and she nearly laughed at the irony of it all. Her hands fumbled as she changed into a more sensible set of clothing; a pair of slacks and a loose-fitting blouse. Most of her and Bulla’s wardrobe consisted of skirts and dresses, and these clothes had been a request of hers from years ago. One of the rare ones to be fulfilled. As she gathered her hair into a low ponytail, her gaze landed on the little plastic container and she hesitated. But there was no room for hesitation, not now. No room for second-guessing or trying to talk herself out of it.

“It can’t be helped,” she said, hoping saying it out loud would help steel her nerves. She grabbed the container and opened it, her eyes lingering on the small bag inside. Marron seemed to work in slow motion, making a pot of tea all the while she tried not to think about what she had to do.

She waited until the water was hot before she opened her door, surprising Lancer. “Miss Marron! Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” she said, doing her best to offer him a smile. He misread her unease, but perhaps that was a good thing. “I just...I can’t sleep.”

Lancer gave a reassuring smile and nodded. “I understand. Can I...I mean, is there something I can do to help?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could trouble you for your company,” she said. “I’ve been cooped up here too long by myself and I...I’ve found it difficult to sleep lately.” The lie came too easily to her for comfort.

Everything seemed too easy. It was too easy to lull him into a sense of security, too easy to make him let down his guard without even trying. Marron did her best not think about what she was doing, about the way he smiled at her so genuinely. She also tried not to think about how genuine his smile was or how readily he accepted the tea. She tried even harder not to imagine what his last thoughts would be as he drifted into a sleep he’d never wake from. _They would have done more terrible things to him_ , she told herself.  _This was a mercy._  As Marron climbed down the steps that lead to the alleyway, she clutched the communicator even tighter, willing herself not think about anything. Soon she’d be with her parents, and she wouldn’t have to think about Lancer again. In the distance, the wound in the sky seemed to bleed.


	39. Gale Song

“That woman will probably be back. She was really tough. But if she comes back with Vegeta, we’ll tell him what we heard,” he said. Chi-Chi dabbed his cheek with a wet rag but said nothing. “He’ll probably be angry about what they did to Bulla too, so it’ll be easy to convince him.” She clicked her tongue at him and continued her work. “I, uh...I think my cheek’s okay, mom.” She paused, then pressed the rag a little harder against his cheek anyway. His whispered ‘ow’ didn’t seem to reach her at all.

“Gohan’s been gone a long time,” she said distractedly, her voice strained. “But he’ll be back. He said he would, you heard him. He wouldn’t just...” Chi-Chi shook her head. “Anyway, it’s not his fault whatever happened to her, right?”

Goten frowned lightly and nodded. “Right, it was because of that mask,” he said.

“So he shouldn’t feel so guilty! It’s not like _he_ did anything,” she said. It seemed like she needed him to agree with her, so he nodded. And he truly, really did believe it himself; he _knew_ Gohan would never have hurt Bulla intentionally. But the way she’d reacted...his chest hurt thinking about it. He’d never seen anyone so terrified before, and when she said his name as if begging for his help, he wasn’t sure he could take it. 

The Saiyans had done a number on both of them, so he didn’t have much of a choice. The fight between them had admittedly been more difficult than he anticipated, although he’d had it under control most of the time. Even when it got a little dicey, he was ready for everything they had thrown at him. He’d had a plan, had been waiting for the right moment. If Bulla had just stayed where she was...

Except she hadn’t, and when that guy hit her so hard it sent her into a mountain, Goten lost it. He couldn’t even explain what happened. Seeing her struck like that had triggered something in his brain and he went wild. One minute he was trying to wrestle out of Tollash’s grip and the next he was throwing a blast so powerful at Ruco that it literally vaporized him. Goten had killed people before, though it had always only ever been out of necessity. This time felt different — it felt personal. His shoulder was still sore from the way Tollash had popped his arm out of its socket trying to stop him and he winced when he shifted in his seat. If his brother hadn’t shown up when he did, Tollash might have managed to get the upper hand on him again. 

Thinking about Bulla only brought Goten back to the look in her eyes when she caught sight of Gohan. He should’ve just toughed out the pain in his shoulder. He should have carried her himself and avoided this whole mess. But she was hurt, and he would have needed two arms to carry her, so he wound up carrying his mom with one arm while Gohan took Bulla. They were just lucky she wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting.

Chi-Chi stepped back from him and he rubbed at his tender cheek, pulling himself away from his thoughts. There was definitely a bruise there, though he couldn’t be sure if it came from a punch or his mom’s care. The place Gohan brought them certainly didn’t seem like much; it was an old little cottage that had definitely seen better days, with an overgrown garden beside it. It was definitely quiet even with what was left of the villagers roaming around. Gohan had left within a few minutes of their arrival, promising he’d come back soon. They’d been waiting for nearly an hour now and Goten could tell his mom was getting restless from the way she was angrily preparing tea over the fire.

“I’m sure he’s on his way back now,” Goten said, trying to reassure her. He stood up from the tree stump he’d been sitting on. “Is this everyone from the village?”

“Everyone that’s left, I think,” she said with a huff. “Jilby and his boys made it at least. I’m worried that we haven’t seen Caff yet. Did you manage to find him when you went back?”

Goten hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say. If he told her about Caff, he’d have to tell her about Bulla’s role in his death, wouldn’t he? Even if he told her what he’d caught Caff doing, he wasn’t sure how his mom would react. Ten years of companionship was difficult to just forget about, and her opinion of Bulla was already in question. Especially after Almone attacked them looking for her.

“I...don’t think he made it,” he said finally, hoping he sounded convincing. He cleared his throat, eager to change the topic. “I’m gonna go check on Bulla.” Goten gathered a couple of cups of the tea she made to take with him inside the old cottage.

“Don’t you spend too much time in there,” his mother said. It sounded more like a warning. “When Gohan gets back we're going to move right away, so we have to be ready!”

Bulla was sitting up against a wall with a dazed look on her face when he walked in. She winced slightly when she turned her head to look at him. “Goten?” she sounded confused.

“Yep, just me,” he said. He sat down on his knees in front of her and offered out a cup. “Here, take this. How’s your head doing? You got hit pretty hard back there.”

She reluctantly took the cup from him and sniffed at it. Her nose wrinkled but she took a careful sip anyway. For a moment, it looked like she was about to spit it right back out. “ _Ugh_ , what is this stuff?”

“Ginger tea,” he said, trying not to smile at the way her entire face had contorted into disgust. “Never had it before, huh?”

“And I never will again,” she said, shoving the mostly full cup back at him. He shook his head and pushed it back toward her, to her annoyance.

“It’ll help with your head,” he insisted. “Really! Go on, drink at least half of it.” The way she looked at him made him think she might just throw the cup at his head any second. Instead, she scowled and forced herself to sip at it, though it was clear just how much she despised it from the sounds she made. But she did indeed manage to choke down half of it, and the second she was done she practically tossed it back to him. Goten had already finished his tea in that time and drank the rest of hers with a laugh.

“You have the worst taste,” she said. Bulla tried to sit up more and winced again, clenching her teeth with a hiss. He reached out for her instinctively, gently holding her by the shoulders to keep her steady. His own shoulder throbbed at the sudden movement. One of her hands came up to clutch at his wrist and she squeezed. “ _Stupid_ ...why aren’t _you_ hurt?”

“I am, just not as bad. I’ve been hit a lot, so I’m kind of used to it,” he said. “Plus, that was a Super Saiyan. Getting hit by someone in that form is gonna hurt a lot more.”

“A _Super Saiyan_ ,” she seemed incredulous. “Is that...I mean, is that why your hair changed?” Honestly, he forgot about that part sometimes. If it wasn’t for his mom’s disdain for the form, he’d probably have never even realized. He nodded in reply. “Can _all_ Saiyans do that?”

“I guess so,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve never thought about it, though. I’ve just always been able to do it, ever since I was a kid.”

Bulla didn’t seem to believe that, judging by the look she gave him, but she didn’t say anything. Goten heard voices near the door and glanced over his shoulder. His mother’s voice was loud enough that he could tell Gohan must have returned, and he turned back to Bulla, fully intending to say something.

Whatever it was, he forgot when he saw that same fear in her eyes as she stared at the door. But it was just a quick flash — a second later she blinked and the fear vanished. Even after everything, she was still unwilling to let him see her vulnerable. She probably didn’t remember he was there when she woke up and realized Gohan was carrying her. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly. She released his wrist abruptly and looked away, her mouth tightening into a straight line. His mind rolled over a variety of scenarios that usually ended with Bulla being angrier than usual with Gohan around as he went outside. Just like she was back at the gas station, except then his brother was unconscious. He could only imagine how much worse it was for her to see him awake.

Goten tried not to think about it as he stepped outside. Predictably, their mom was practically glued to Gohan’s side, fussing over him in that way only she knew how. It was hard to tell whether or not it bothered Gohan — from where he was, Goten really couldn’t get a read on his face. But when his brother saw him approach, he pried himself away from Chi-Chi.

“I have to speak to Goten real quick,” he said, firm but not unkind. “Just for a couple of minutes.”

Their mom looked...well, a little more than just nervous. Goten didn’t know what else to call the expression she wore. She probably worried about letting Gohan out of her sight. “Alright, but don’t be too long. We have to get moving again, remember? Just like you said.” She looked between them before she reluctantly walked away. He waited until she was out of earshot before he spoke.

“Is she awake?” he asked. When Goten nodded, Gohan held out a small pouch. “Good. Make sure she gets one of these. You’ll need to leave sooner rather than later.”

Goten took the pouch and opened it, peering inside curiously. “What are — wait...are these _senzu beans_?” He wasn’t sure he believed his own eyes, but that was indeed what they seemed to be looking at. The little green beans were unmistakable. “Where did you even find these?! I thought for sure they were gone for good!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gohan said, glancing over his shoulder back at their mother. “Give one to her then head for South City and meet up with Krillin. And be careful with using them — that’s the last I know of.”

He was so distracted by the senzu beans that at first Goten could only agree, and even began heading for the door when he paused. He turned back to look at Gohan, concern settling onto his face. Why was his brother talking like that? “You’re coming with us, right?” When he didn’t immediately answer, Goten took a step closer. “ _Right,_ Gohan?”

“Goten...”

“No, don’t do that,” he said, irritation flaring up in his voice. “Don’t treat me like I’m a clueless kid, because I’m _not_. You can’t just come back and then leave again like this, Gohan, not after everything that’s happened. I mean, just think of mom! Think about what that’s gonna do to her! First dad does it and now you too?”

Gohan shook his head. “It isn’t like that, Goten. I promise.”

“Then what _is_ it like?” He couldn’t keep the anger from his tone. 

“Do you really think _she’d_ want me here after what I’ve done?” Gohan said, nodding his head towards the cottage. 

 Goten wanted to argue. He wanted to insist otherwise, to come up with something that’d dispute what he was saying. It wasn’t Gohan who did those things to her — it was Frieza, and that stupid mask. But then he remembered the look of wild fear and distress in Bulla as she pleaded for help, and it felt like a cold stone sank into his gut. Whatever Frieza did to her, whatever he made Gohan do, meant she wasn’t likely to forgive or forget. He couldn’t even bring himself to blame her. At the same time, his own desperation coiled around him. The thought of losing his brother a third time weighed on him heavily, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat. He felt trapped between Bulla and Gohan, like he had to make a choice. 

“We...I’ll talk to her,” he said, looking back at Gohan. But even his own mind wasn’t convinced of anything he tried to say. “She’s reasonable.” _She isn’t, not really._ “She’ll understand, I know she will.” _She won’t, she’ll just get angrier._ “And as long as I’m around, she’ll be okay.” _She didn’t listen to me before, she definitely won’t now._

It was like Gohan could hear the thoughts in his head, and offered him a pitying look. He searched Goten’s face until the younger man turned his head away, unwilling to let his brother see his own uncertainty though he knew it was too late. 

“She’s been through enough,” Gohan said quietly, and Goten knew it was true. He searched his mind for something, _anything_ , that might convince both of them otherwise, but he couldn’t keep from imagining her anxiety. His brother spoke again, dragging him out of his thoughts. “My presence will just distract the both of you from doing what needs to be done — and the Saiyans are gonna keep coming.”

Goten’s brow furrowed at that, willing himself to shift his attention. “Why? What do they want?”

“I’m not sure. Vegeta didn’t have time to explain what was going on. But if they’re anything like the ones I’ve met, then it can’t be anything good.”

“Vegeta? When did—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gohan said again, cutting him off before he could finish his question. From the look in his eye, Goten knew better than to push and he had to force himself to swallow down his curiosity. Another time maybe, when things weren’t as dire as they were now. He focused on the more important topic at hand.

“So he already knows. If that’s the case, then why is he still with them?”

“He didn’t say, but my guess is they’ve got Trunks or Bulma. Maybe both. He just made it clear that _we_ needed to keep out of their reach until he can figure out the next move.” Gohan closed the gap between them and lowered his voice. “There’s too many of them to fight all at once, even for Vegeta. Which is why you two need to get to South City as fast as possible.”

The thought of _Vegeta_ admitting when a foe was too much was enough to worry him. Growing up, he distinctly remembered when the Saiyan prince would go for the strongest enemy just for the challenge. He shifted uncomfortably as he thought back to the Saiyans he’d fought. What was the “truth” they were so worried about Vegeta finding out, anyway? 

“What about you, though?” Goten asked, though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

“There’s something else I need to do first,” his brother replied. Goten tried to not let the helplessness he felt draw itself on his face but knew he wasn’t doing a good job of it. He also knew that there was no arguing with Gohan, especially not now. He’d already made up his mind.

“Can you at least give me a hint?” Goten asked. Gohan looked at him, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “I mean between you and dad, it’d be nice to have _some_ idea where one of you went for once.”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Gohan smiled. It wasn’t a very big smile or a very happy one, but it served to make him look more like the brother Goten remembered. “Heh. Well, I guess when you put it that way...” he turned and motioned toward the sky behind them. “Those rifts out there are getting bigger, and there’s power coming from them, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I’m going to go find out what’s going on.”

It was nearly impossible to actually see them from this distance, but there was no mistaking the power they possessed. Despite how far away they were, he could still feel it reaching out across the sky. Goten had originally assumed it must have belonged to the Saiyans, but it seemed to increase every day. “Dad went into one,” said Goten, and his brother nodded. “You’re not planning to go after him, are you?”

“No,” Gohan said, and Goten sighed with relief. “But I’ve seen rifts like those before, and something’s definitely wrong with these ones. I won’t be gone long.” He shifted his weight and returned his gaze to Goten. “In the meantime, I need you to trust me.”

“I do, but...” 

“We’ve talked enough, Goten,” Gohan said, ending the discussion in one fell swoop. “I’ve gotta go while mom’s busy, and you’ve got a senzu bean to deliver.”

“Right,” Goten glanced back at the door and frowned. He wanted to argue, but Bulla really had been waiting for a while. Still, Gohan was leaving again. And maybe he should’ve been more prepared for the mix of emotions he was feeling, but it was hard to shake the sense of dread he felt. As his brother turned to leave, Goten quickly stepped closer to stop him. “Hey, wait.” Gohan had barely turned back around when Goten threw his arms around him, pulling his brother into a hug. He stiffened at first, seemingly unsure of how to react, but after a second’s hesitation, he returned the embrace.

“Make sure you actually come back this time, alright? Don’t be like dad,” Goten said. Gohan gave a short laugh and released him. 

“I’ll do my best. Take care of mom until I get back.”

He didn’t waste any more time after that and was already well away before Chi-Chi noticed. Goten hurried back into the cottage as she yelled after Gohan, and he tried not to think about the fury and sorrow mixing in her voice. Bulla was still sitting upright, although he realized that her eyes were closed when he sat down in front of her again.

“Bulla? You awake?” he said quietly. When she didn’t answer, he reached up to gently shake her by the shoulder. Her eyes shot open and she quickly batted him away from her with a sharp gasp. He held both of his hands up in surrender. “It’s just me!”

She rubbed her forehead and let out a deep breath. “Where were you?” she said with a hoarse voice. Goten frowned slightly and wondered if her confusion was the result of her tiredness or the bump on her head. He opened up the pouch Gohan gave him and fished out one of the senzu beans. 

“I brought something for you,” he said, choosing to avoid mentioning his brother for now. He offered her one and she looked at it warily before taking it. _She still doesn’t really trust me that much._ “It’s a senzu bean — it’ll heal...well, pretty much everything.”

Bulla took it from him, though she did wrinkle her nose again as she ate it. But if she had anything snarky to say about the taste, she quickly seemed to forget it. She looked at Goten with a stunned expression on her face. “What the...where did you get these?!”

He made to answer and then hesitated. He didn’t want to upset her by mentioning Gohan right now. “It’s, uh...not important right now,” he said quickly, tying the pouch closed. “Anyway, we have four left but we’re gonna have to be careful about using them.”

Goten put it into his pocket and got to his feet, then held out his hand to help her up. She accepted the help, and once she was standing again she abruptly grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him down into a rough kiss. These ones always hurt a bit, at least until her tongue slipped into his mouth and distracted him. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy it, to sink into the feeling and just be with her for as long as he could. But now wasn’t the time, he sternly reminded himself.

His hands had somehow found their way to her shoulders and he gently pulled himself away from her lips. Part of him didn’t want to, but his mother’s voice was too loud to ignore. And he _really_ didn’t want her to barge in on them like this.

“We should get going,” he said, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt. She gave him another kiss, one that was far more gentle and made his cheeks feel warm, before she made for the door. The moment they stepped outside, however, Chi-Chi was right on them.

“Where did Gohan go?!” she demanded.

“Uh, well...” he started, but his mom grabbed him by the ear. He yelped and bent slightly so that she wasn’t pulling as much. “ _Ouch!_ He said he’d be back!”

Trying to convince his mother of his innocence in Gohan’s departure was like herding cats, but fortunately for him, the need to be on the move was much stronger than her anger. For now, anyway. His ear throbbed the entire time he helped load up the trucks Jilby’s sons had brought with them. By the time they set out, Goten counted only fifteen or so villagers — roughly half of what they’d started with just a few days before.

A smaller group meant it’d be easier to get where they needed to go, but it did leave him feeling oddly hollow. After spending so much time with so many people, it was hard not to think about all the missing faces. Between Seeda and Caff in particular, and with Krillin having separated from them, the Remainers were beginning to feel less and less like the group he used to know. 

If he had any doubts about whether or not his mom had softened on Bulla, they were crushed the minute he got into one of the trucks and Chi-Chi squeezed herself between the two of them. While it wasn’t impossible, it did make it a bit difficult to drive, but his mom didn’t seem convinced of his reasoning when he protested. 

“I’m sure there’s plenty of room in the back for Bulla,” she said haughtily. Bulla shot her a glare and Goten gave an awkwardly loud laugh.

“You know what, it’s not so bad after all!” he said quickly. But after a couple of hours of driving like that he really wished he’d chosen a different vehicle to take. What’s more, the entire drive mostly consisted of silence, and when it _wasn’t_ quiet, his mother was talking loudly about what a ‘very nice boy’ he was. Goten found it fairly easy to tune her out, though he could tell it was grating on Bulla’s nerves. Her patience finally reached its boiling point about the time they’d reached a small settlement along the coast. The second they came to a stop, Bulla practically threw open the door and stormed out, slamming it shut behind her so hard that it shook the whole vehicle. He was more impressed that it didn’t shatter the window. 

There was a ferry here that would take them to the island, and they’d probably be in South City by the end of tomorrow. Between making those arrangements and calming down Bulla, Goten could already tell he was going to have a rough night.

“Hmph! What a rude girl! Absolutely no respect for her elders! She gets that from her _father_ I’ll bet,” said his mother.

“I’ll go talk to her,” he said, more wearily than intended. Between Bulla’s silent fury and his mother’s constant picking, and the fact that ever since Gohan told him where he was going and now all he could do was focus on that immense power from miles away, he was already willing the day to be over. Goten rubbed his face with his hands and made to get out himself. Just as he started to open the door, his mother spoke again.

“Goten, I need you to be _completely honest_ with me,” she said. His mother was not someone who ever asked for the truth, because she always knew it already. So he knew this didn’t bode well for him. “Was Caff...did he tell the truth back there? About you and her?”

In an instant, he could tell his cheeks had gone red. _Fucking one of his pets don’t make it yours, golden boy,_ Caff’s voice repeated in his head. He’d said it in front of everyone, and Goten had really, _really_ hoped his mom would have forgotten about it somehow. But the way she was looking at him now, he knew that certainly wasn’t the case.

“It’s not...it’s not like that,” he started, trying to find the right words to say.

Before he could continue, Chi-Chi seemed to have chosen that as his answer. “That’s what I thought! You two just train a lot, that’s all. He probably only said that to get a rise out of everyone,” she said. He couldn’t tell if she actually believed that, or if she just wanted to believe it. For a moment, he considered leaving it there, but…

“No, mom,” he said, against his better judgment. “We, uh...we’re...” Kami, why was it so hard to talk about? His mom’s glare probably had something to do with it.

“ _Just_ training,” she said, firmly.

“We’re not, though — I mean, we _are_ training, but it’s more than that,” he tried again. “Look, I like her a lot and we’ve been spending a lot of time together. So like I said, it’s more than just—”

She bristled. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear, and the sharpness of her voice and anger in her face made that abundantly clear. “Stop right there,” she snapped. “Absolutely not, Goten! I _forbid_ it, do you hear me?!”

He felt like he was a kid again, getting yelled at for disobeying her. Except, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was an adult, a grown man who could make his own decisions. She’d never had such harsh objections to anyone else he’d ever been with, limited as that number was. Yet for some reason, she seemed so adamantly against Bulla that her ire had managed to get under his skin. Normally he might try to hear her out at least, but now he was just frustrated. 

“I’m not doing that, mom,” he said. “We’re both adults and we can both make our own choices. And we already made that one.”

“You’re going to end it! I mean it, do you hear me?!” Chi-Chi yelled, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if everyone outside heard her. “There’s no way you two can keep this up — it’s not proper! She’s just not right for you, Goten!”

“I can decide that for myself!” 

“But Goten—”

“Stop, alright?! It’s too late for any of that! I love her, mom, and you’re not gonna change that!” He said it before he even realized _what_ he’d said. It came out without him even thinking about it. The shocked expression on his mother’s face was enough to silence him, and for a moment, they sat there staring at one another. A light tapping on the window stole away his attention, and Goten looked over to see Jilby standing outside. 

“I need to go help get things set up for the ferry,” he said. “Mom, I...” Chi-Chi turned her head away and crossed her arms over her chest. She was furious, he could tell, but as far as he was concerned she didn’t have any reason to be. He stepped out of the truck and followed Jilby over to the ferryman. The ferry they had secured was much larger than he thought, and he was relieved they’d all have their own beds for once. On the way, he caught sight of Bulla braiding her hair by the water. He tried not to watch her too much as he worked, but his eyes kept finding her wherever she was. Tensions between her and the other villagers still lingered, though at least they seemed more willing to accept her help. He couldn’t help but smile whenever he caught her carrying or lifting something for someone.

Perhaps out of respect for his mother, Goten and Bulla kept their distance from one another on the ferry. Then again, maybe it was more than that. As he settled into the tiny cot and tried to fall asleep, his mind wandered back to what he’d said to his mom in the truck. 

_Love._ He wasn’t even sure why he’d said it. Not that long ago he was trying to figure out how he felt about her. He knew he had feelings, but...for all that he hated to admit it, he understood why his mom felt she wasn’t right for him. He went down the list in his head — she was sharp and mean, she seemed to hate _most_ things including people, she was demanding and bossy, and so insufferably stubborn sometimes he almost couldn’t stand it.

Then she’d smile and laugh, or her cheeks would turn pink when he teased her, or her eyes would light up when they sparred, or she’d moan his name while they were together and none of that other stuff even mattered. Goten knew he liked her. He knew he felt strongly for her. Love, though?

“Goten?” Bulla’s voice was quieted by the door, but he could tell it was her. He had half a mind to pretend to be asleep so that he could keep trying to sort through the thoughts in his head. But the next thing he knew, he’d opened the door. And the next thing after that, she was on top of him again, moaning his name and making him forget whatever doubts crept into his mind. When he was with her, he didn’t have to worry about what his mom thought. He didn’t have to focus on what his brother was doing. He didn’t even have to focus on that dreadful power reaching him from miles and miles away. 

_Love._ Yeah, maybe that was about right.


	40. Vera Causa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed upload. I struggled with this chapter more than anticipated, and a lot of real life events were happening at the same time. I will be back on my regular schedule following this chapter.

What did it mean to be a Saiyan? The question dogged him far more often than he’d like, but the answer was becoming clearer the longer he was surrounded by his own people. At one point in time, it wouldn’t have even crossed his mind — the answer was always right there in front of him. Yet now, after so many years, that answer wasn’t as clear as it once was. There was still pride, yes, in the strength and determination and resilience that the entire race possessed. For every day that he spent fighting alongside them, he was reminded.

But at the same time, there was something else to being a Saiyan. Something he hadn’t considered much in a very, very long time. They were a brutal, violent race of people at their core, bred for destruction and death. Not that he’d forgotten that at all, just that the reminder affected him far more than he’d anticipated. What he _had_ nearly forgotten was what it was like to kill soldiers in a war, to do so without any pretense of personal honor or ideas of a fair fight. It was necessary to sell his allegiance, of course. Still...it got his blood moving in a way he wasn’t quite ready for.

Perhaps it was knowing there was a universe out there where his people weren’t the warlords they were here. Perhaps it was just that he’d gone so soft that he spent far more time in his own head than he had in years. Or maybe he was just looking too closely at the whole thing. The thought frustrated and annoyed him to no end. 

His internal struggle would not dissuade him from his task, however. Whatever his conflicts were, they remained an aside to be considered later. For now, his goal was clear: undermine the king little by little until the moment was right. He’d made it clear that he wouldn’t pursue the king’s goals in earnest unless his family was kept safe. With Bulma and Trunks already aboard the ship, that meant Bulla was the last piece of the puzzle. The king had agreed to his terms, but it meant the search for Vegeta’s daughter, and both of Kakarot's boys, was in earnest. He’d had to think quickly, and so he redirected their course further east toward Satan City.

It wasn’t difficult to send the two warriors he’d taken along elsewhere for a short time. Once he determined that Kakarot’s brat was no longer under Frieza’s influence, Vegeta told him what he could and that was that. Gohan was about as capable an ally he could hope for right now, in spite of everything that had happened. He had no other choice, after all. Until he could figure out what to do next, his hands were effectively tied.

Three days later and it seemed his trust was well-placed. They remained two steps behind Bulla and her companions, much to Scalli and Zorn’s annoyance. Vegeta wasn’t much for acting, but it wasn’t too difficult to sell his own irritation to them. They were deeply unpleasant to be around.

“ _Now_ where have they gone?” Zorn said as the three of them stormed through the ruined palace. From the size of it, Vegeta assumed this place must have belonged to the grandfather Goten spoke about. The disturbed dust and the trail of dirt that two sets of feet left behind were all but faded by now, yet remnants of their presence lingered. 

“I’m starting to wonder if you’re even _trying_ to find them,” Vegeta snapped. “What a waste of time.”

Zorn’s face practically turned on itself as he scowled. Scalli folded her arms and glared at the ruins as if the walls themselves were withholding information from them.

“We’ll find them, my prince, I swear we will,” she said. The effort was there, but Vegeta only scoffed in reply. If Gohan was even half as useful as he seemed, then she’d be a liar by morning. Once they were outside, Zorn took it upon himself to level the old palace, tearing it down with blast after blast until there was nothing left of it but rubble. Vegeta waited in the sky above, all the while ignoring the way Scalli loudly ran through the day’s events as though retracing their steps would help. Before long, they reached the area Tollash described and found the signs of battle. Nearby mountains with holes in them, rubble piled all around, and a massive crater right in the center of the ground.

“Tollash claims the half-breed did all this,” Zorn said, skeptically. Scalli snorted and shook her head, laughing to herself.

“There’s no way a _half-breed_ could be that strong,” she said. “Ruco was an idiot, and Tollash is getting old.”

It was Vegeta’s turn to laugh, the sound rumbling low from the back of his throat. “My son would wipe the floor with both of you without even breaking a sweat. Underestimating what they’re capable of will be your undoing, just as it was Ruco’s.”

The pair looked at him as though they were ready to argue then thought better of it. “Of course _your_ children would be strong,” Scalli began carefully. “Even with an earthling for a mother, your own strength would—”

“Enough. The king may like you licking his boots every second, but I don’t,” he said impatiently. “We’ve wasted enough of our time here. It’s obvious Ruco and Tollash scared them off. At this rate, we won’t find them anytime soon. We’ll return to the ship for now.”

The look Scalli gave him was a curious one, and for a moment, she seemed reluctant to speak again. Finally, as Vegeta was preparing to leave them behind, she found her backbone. 

“Did the king...did he not tell you?” she asked. She sounded almost afraid of the question.

“Tell me _what?_ ” Vegeta said, irritably. “That you two would fail so spectacularly or that you’d waste even more of my time?”

Scalli shot an uncertain glance at Zorn before she cleared her throat. “The king’s sent another search party, one of the elite groups. We’re to meet them at the city to the east, where our forces encountered the other half-breed.”

Vegeta’s patience wore thinner every day, especially when it came to the king and his schemes. He felt the blood boiling under his skin. Sending a second group wasn’t likely an act of concern for Bulla’s safety, that much Vegeta knew. If it had been, the king would have told Vegeta himself. No, the slight was intentional. It was a message meant for him and him alone, one that told him plainly how little the king actually trusted him and his motives.

 _So he’s not a complete fool,_ Vegeta thought bitterly. “Then what are we waiting for?” he said, barely able to keep the irritation from his tone.

Sometime later, as they approached Satan City and the sun began to set, Vegeta took note of just how much the area had changed. He’d never liked coming here for any reason, especially when Bulma insisted on visiting Kakarot and his brood. Yet seeing its devastation was a bit more jarring than he’d have liked to admit. West City had changed considerably, but at its core and underneath the layers of Frieza’s influence, it was still home. There were still remnants of the city he knew. Here was another matter entirely; there were craters in place of buildings and homes, and scars from the fight between Gohan and Frieza were everywhere. Even Hercule’s ridiculous mansion was so ruined he hardly recognized it as they passed over.

They landed on the top of one of the few buildings still standing, where they were able to see most of the city without trouble. From what Vegeta could tell, they were the only living things there, and he quickly became perturbed. 

“Well, where is this so-called second party?” he snapped at Scalli and Zorn. 

“I don’t know,” Scalli said. “They should already be here.”

No sooner than she’d finished her sentence that Vegeta felt it — that crushing weight of power coming from _somewhere_. Usually it felt far away, like it rolled in from a great distance. Only now, it felt closer than ever before. He scanned the skies, but the sun had gone down and the moonless night made it difficult to make anything out clearly.

“What was—” Scalli began, but she wouldn’t finish that sentence. A blast tore through her so abruptly that neither Zorn nor Vegeta caught exactly where it had come from. Vegeta turned in time to evade an incoming blow from an invisible assailant. The sound of Zorn’s surprised yell told him he too had been attacked. His hand came up to catch the fist aiming for his face, and now he could see his enemy clearly.

It was a Saiyan, that much was certain. The scouter, the tail, the armor all made that very apparent. _Did the king send them to kill me?_ The thought crossed Vegeta’s mind, but it didn’t make any sense to him. Why go through the trouble of all those lies and schemes only to kill him in the end? And all that talk about family and honor...no, it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

So he looked for a new answer. There was something _off_ about this Saiyan. He was surrounded by a strange dark aura that made him appear nearly invisible in the darkness. As Vegeta knocked him back with a kick, he kept his eyes locked on him and his every movement. The aura reminded him of the same feeling he got from Trunks when he’d had that mask on him, and it seemed that it had a similar effect. He was powerful, far more than Vegeta had expected, but he adjusted his tactics accordingly.

The Saiyan lunged at him and the force of his blows forced Vegeta to maintain a defensive position. He traded blows with the Saiyan, allowed himself to be pushed back off the roof and down onto the streets below. None of his hits seemed to faze his opponent at all, and from the sounds of it, Zorn was also having a hard time. From his experience with both Gohan and Trunks and that strange energy, Vegeta knew he had to end it quick.

He put as much power into his next strike as he could, and watched as the Saiyan was sent flying backward through a building. “Enough of this,” he said to himself. Vegeta waited until he could see his opponent again as he took position. But as he began to gather energy, preparing to ascend, something just...happened. There was no other way to describe it other than the sensation of a connection being severed. When he reached out for his ki, nothing came. He only realized it a second too late, before he was launched down the street by a blow so hard it left him slightly dazed.

“What the hell?!” he heard himself shout. He shoved the rubble off of himself and glared down at his hands. It was as if the ki had been drained from the world — he couldn’t even sense his opponent anymore. And now, a retreat would be near impossible without flight. Angered, Vegeta threw himself right back outside to meet the Saiyan. He’d have to deal with the disconnect later, when he wasn’t having to fight for his life. For now, it was about survival. But between the way this Saiyan was fighting and the lack of ki, Vegeta could feel himself wearing down. He just barely managed to avoid Zorn as he came hurtling down toward him, landing on the concrete in a heap of rubble. Vegeta once again tried to reach for his ki to do something, _anything_ , and found nothing instead. 

 _Damn it,_ he thought. He glanced down at Zorn who seemed to still be alive, but only just, and knew he was on his own. _What the hell is going on here?_ His eyes darted back to the sky, hoping to find the source of the disruption. Whatever it was, if it was there at all, it certainly wouldn’t see him crumble so easily. It would be like fighting with one hand tied behind his back, that’s all. It would _easy;_ he was still a force to be reckoned with, and they would soon learn that. Vegeta fell back into position and stared down the two Saiyans as they advanced on him, ready to strike at the right moment.

That moment never came. In its place, a wave of power rippled through the air. As he registered its presence, he felt as though that severed connection was being repaired, little by little. And the next moment, one of the Saiyans was gone, thrown across the street and into the side of a building. Vegeta could just make out a new form, slightly smaller than the two it was battling, but he didn’t linger on it long. Once he determined it wasn’t their ally, he rushed forward to join the fight again. When his strength returned to him in full, the fight was over — all it took was a single ki blast to finally put one down, while the stranger took care of the other.

Vegeta looked down at the Saiyans that lay dead at his feet. That strange aura had left them, and now they just appeared normal. He glanced back at Zorn struggling to his feet as he held his waist, before he returned his attention to the stranger. Even in the dark, he could see they were female. She was tall for a woman, easily taller than his wife at least, with dark hair that stood in some places. When she turned to face him, he could see that she wore a pair of goggles and a scarf of some kind covered half of her face.

“Am I supposed to guess who you are?” he asked gruffly, folding his arms over his chest. She began to speak but quickly realized her voice was muffled and reached up to tug the scarf down. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry about that!” she said brightly. “I was in the area and it looked like you guys might need some help.”

He scoffed. “You just _happened_ to be nearby?”

She laughed and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, but she didn’t give him more than a muttering excuse for an answer. His eyes narrowed further as he sized her up; she couldn’t have been older than a teenager, judging by the youthfulness of her face. Even so, the scar on her left cheek looked as though she’d received it years ago, and she was definitely Saiyan, at least. The tail wrapped around her waist was a clear indicator of that, and her black hair fell in harsh spikes. Her left arm in particular also seemed to catch his attention in that most of what was visible appeared to be covered in some kind of metal, and what little light there was available reflected off of it. 

“You’re a Saiyan,” he said. “When did you get here?”

“What?” she said. Playing dumb was _not_ his favorite game.

“Do you take me for some kind of fool?” he demanded. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice your tail?” She froze, then glanced down at her waist and gave another awkward laugh. It was only then that he noticed she seemed to have had something meant to cover it, but the cloth had fallen and was dangling at her side.

“Oh, um...no, I don’t think you’re a fool,” she said, fumbling over her words. 

“Then tell me: did you come here with them, or did you lay this trap yourself?” Vegeta said, hands balling into fists. 

“W-what? No! Of course not,” she said quickly, holding her hands up defensively. “There was no trap at all! Just bad timing.”

“ _Bad timing?_ ” he said, incredulous.

She opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but stopped short. Her head turned slightly as though she was listening for something, and she muttered to herself under her breath. “I know, I know, but...I had to.”

“ _Who_ are you talking to?” he said, stepping forward. She hopped back a few paces, hands still raised. “Don’t play games with me, kid, I’m in no mood.”

“Okay, listen! I’ll tell you what I can, but you have to trust me when I say that’s _all_ I can tell you!” She reached up and pulled her goggles off, setting them on top of her head while her tail unwrapped and brought around a pair of binoculars from behind her. She picked them up and held them to her face, searching the sky until she stopped and pointed, seemingly at nothing as she offered him the binoculars. Vegeta scowled lightly when he brought them up, but he couldn’t deny what his eyes were seeing.

Those same rifts Frieza summoned over the battlefield seemed to have appeared nearby and had grown in size. They swirled menacingly in the clouds, and seemed to roll over itself angrily. That power he’d felt ever since that day was still there, low and inconspicuous until it wasn’t, when it came in waves of pressure.

“See there? That one’s pretty close to here,” she said. “ _That’s_ why I was in the area. I’m a...patroller of sorts. I patrol things, specifically those things. They’re a serious danger to this planet and I’m trying to stop them before it’s too late.”

There was a lot to unpack from that, so he focused on the keyword that caught his attention immediately. He paused, then brought the binoculars down so he could glare at her. “You’re not part of the Galactic Patrol, are you?” he said flatly. The last thing he needed was Jaco to appear and annoy him with his refusal to do a damn thing to help them. She laughed again, and something about it annoyed him even more than the non-answer she fumbled out.

“Not really, no, but it’s not super different from what they do, I guess!” she said. He shoved the binoculars back to her and she took them. Being this close to her, he noticed the way her eyes were far lighter than he’d expected of a Saiyan — they were blue in this light, or what little they had of it, and almost familiar. Before he could get a better look she’d moved away from him. Something about her seemed irritatingly familiar, as though he’d seen her before, but he couldn’t place it. 

“I assume you have a name,” he said, watching her closely. She paused before she nodded reluctantly.

“Of course! I mean, it’d be weird if I didn’t, huh?” she said, turning back to face him with a strained smile. “I’m Charlotte.” She held out her right hand and he eyed it for a moment before he glanced back at her face. She abruptly withdrew her hand to the back of her head and let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry! I must have forgotten all of my manners,” she said with a quick bow.

“Hm. You already know my name,” he said. It wasn’t a question, and she made no indication otherwise. “Have we met before?”

When she stood straight again, she fumbled out another _grating_ laugh. “Excuse me, but I have a lot of work to get back to,” she said. “And your friend could really use some medical attention!”

“Tch. He shouldn’t have let himself get hit so much,” he said dismissively. Zorn spat on the ground and gave an angry-sounding noise, and Vegeta looked back at him. He was almost impressed that the man was still standing, so there was that at least. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said. But when Vegeta looked back at her, she was gone.

On a list of things Vegeta trusted, people who made it a habit to appear out of nowhere and then disappear again ranked very, very low. He scowled at nothing and spent a few seconds scouring the sky for any signs of her, but she seemed to have vanished entirely. Something about her reminded him of someone, though he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. There were already far too many “something”s for his liking. For the time being, he tossed a medipill at Zorn and waited impatiently before they were off again.

The entire way back to the ship, all Vegeta could think about was Bulma. He’d been gone longer than he’d expected, and he was sure that if she hadn’t already then she was surely about to go stir crazy. The king had made it clear that while she would be granted some luxuries, he wasn’t about to hand her free reign of the ship. He thought of her blue eyes, and the thought of seeing them again spurred him on. He picked up the pace despite Zorn’s protests.

The sun was already high in the sky by the time they reached the ship. He knew he’d have to speak to the king, he’d have to tell him what had happened, and he’d need to share what that girl had said to him. But the king could wait until after he’d seen Bulma, he decided. He couldn’t stop thinking about her eyes, for whatever reason, and the moment he opened the door to his chambers she was on him.

“Vegeta!” she said, throwing her arms around his neck. “I was so worried that you — I mean, you didn’t _find her,_ did you?” 

His arms slipped around her loosely and he shook his head. “No. I have no idea where she could have gone.” At the very least, that was true. He’d intentionally trusted Gohan to decide where the best hiding place would be for them without telling him, just in case. Vegeta glanced around the room and frowned. “Trunks?”

Bulma pulled away from him and crossed her arms. “Beats me! Every day he says he’s training, but he could be anywhere. I haven’t been allowed out except to go for a walk, and even then I had someone following me the whole damn time.” She scowled and turned her ire toward the door, where a guard was most certainly on the other side. “They wouldn’t even show me where Trunks is training! You know, for a bunch of proud warriors, they sure are worried about an innocent little _earth woman_ wandering around the ship!”

Vegeta wasn’t surprised. He’d boasted plenty about his wife’s skill, and part of him was mildly proud that the king had taken his boasts to heart. It certainly seemed like he regarded her as a threat. But the other part of him kicked himself for blabbing about it at all. If he’d had any sense, he would have kept it a secret to give her a better chance at getting her hands on some answers. The woman could bend any computer to her will, alien or not. He looked back at her and caught her gaze, her blue eyes drawing him in almost instantly. As if on cue, his mind reminded him of the Saiyan girl he’d met, and he folded his arms across his chest.

“Bulma...those rifts out there, do you have any idea what they are?” he said. Bulma glanced behind her at the window across the room, then back to Vegeta.

“The ones that brought...” she gestured vaguely around, and he nodded. “I have a few theories, but it’s hard to be one hundred percent sure of anything. Dimensional rifts, tears in the fabric of time and space. It’s interesting to think about and definitely worth further study if I had the right tools.”

“What tools would you need?” he asked. She gave him a curious look. “Tell me and I’ll get them for you.”

“I can get you a list, but...what’s with the sudden interest? Don’t you think we have more _pressing_ issues right now?” she said. “Oh, I get it! Something happened out there, right?”

“You could say that.” He told her of the possessed Saiyans, and how he suddenly lost his ability to feel ki or draw on it, and of the girl who randomly appeared. Bulma listened, but of all the things he told her, the girl seemed to capture most of her attention. 

“She said she was a Saiyan ‘patroller’? Did she say what kind?” When Vegeta shook his head, Bulma brought a hand up to her chin. “Sounds a little fishy if you ask me. You sure she wasn’t one of your father’s people?”

“Too young, and I doubt he’s capable of such an elaborate trick,” he said. Then again, he knew he couldn’t say what this king was or wasn’t capable of with complete certainty. 

“Still, if she’s really a Saiyan and she just so happened to appear like that, it might be worth questioning the king about it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. Bulma placed her hands on her hips and gave an indignant huff.

“What do you mean maybe?! _Of course_ I’m right!” He knew better than to argue with her.

Vegeta hadn’t realized just how tired he was before, but there was still too much to do for rest. He knew putting off the king would only last so long, and he’d have to hunt down Trunks and get back to training him again. As he made his way toward the council chambers, however, something caught his eye. More specifically, _someone_. Normally, a short woman with spiky jet black hair wouldn’t stand out to him, but this woman happened to look so similar to the girl he’d encountered that he couldn’t ignore it. He’d just caught a glimpse of her before she rounded a corner, and he quickly changed course to follow after her. 

She was a fair distance ahead of him when he saw her again. Vegeta moved quicker, his path made easier as people got out of his way. She came to a stop in front of a door, giving him plenty of time to catch up.

“Hey, you!” he said as he approached. She turned, and the resemblance was almost uncanny — other than the eyes, anyway. Hers were more narrow and black, while the girl’s were wide and blue.

“O-oh! Prince Vegeta!” she said, surprise writing itself on her face. “What can I do for you?”

The resemblance was there, yes, but the closer he got, the easier it was to see her age. This woman was quite plainly older than even he was, with graying strands that fell in spikes similar to the girl’s. There was no way they _weren’t_ related, though. 

“Your daughter, or granddaughter, was in Satan City last night. Why?” he asked. Her surprise turned to confusion, and he pressed further. “Unless you have a much younger _sister_.”

“I...what?” 

“You heard me.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I think there’s...there must be some mistake. I don’t have any daughters, and...well, as far as I know, no granddaughters.”

“I know what I saw,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“I swear, Prince Vegeta, I don’t have any girls. I don’t know who you saw but she wasn’t one of mine,” she said, and Vegeta had no choice but to believe her. She sounded far too earnest, far too genuine in her bewilderment that it both frustrated and perplexed him further. 

“Damn it,” he muttered. _There’s no way they’re not related somehow,_ he thought as he eyed her. _But if what Bulma said was true, if those rifts involved time...damn it, this is already too complicated._ “Fine. My mistake. Who are you?”

 _There is no mistake. She could still be related._ “Me? I’m just a food processor,” she said.

“Do food processors not have names now?”

Her cheeks flushed at his word and he could tell he’d flustered her. “It’s Gine, my prince. My name is Gine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a moment, please let me know what you think of the story so far. Do you have any theories? Any hopes? Any worries? And if you would like to contact me directly, you may reach me on tumblr at https://actualrogers.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thank you for your patience and support. I truly appreciate every one of you. :)


	41. End of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Explicit sexual content inbound.

She hated that woman. With every fiber of her being, Bulla hated Chi-Chi so intensely that it nearly rivaled her hatred for Captain Almone herself. For the past few days since they’d arrived in South City, Chi-Chi went out of her way to make Bulla’s every waking moment the most irritating, the most frustrating experience in the world. Chi-Chi would wake her up before the crack of dawn, _claiming_ that that was the best time to work on laundry and wash dishes. Not that Bulla was very willing to do any of that, but Goten looked so pathetic that she’d felt almost compelled to oblige.

At least at first. That beast of a woman was trying to work her like a slave rather than let her train or do anything useful _._ Bulla had never in her entire life washed dirty laundry with her own hands. Not even her own. She had _people_ for that, just like she had _people_ for the dirty dishes, and the cooking, and the sewing. Her patience for this charade only lasted for so long.

There wasn’t a single moment of peace between them, and Bulla had already dropped any pretenses of pretending otherwise, Goten’s pathetic eyes or not. Chi-Chi made snide remarks about her appearance, her behavior, the way she ate, the way she walked. The way she dressed seemed to be an especially hot topic for the old hag.

Of course, Bulla wasn’t an idiot. She knew that Chi-Chi’s ire for her had at least something to do with Goten. So in retaliation, Bulla worked to irritate her further; she found tighter pants and a top that would show off her midriff and cleavage more plainly. It was still mostly practical, but it would also drive the woman mad. She made it a point to be far more affectionate with Goten more openly, going out of her way to touch him in some way whenever that monster was around. If Chi-Chi wanted to hate her, then she’d at least have a good reason to. It certainly worked, and the look of pure rage on Chi-Chi’s face was worth it every time. For his part, Goten seemed to simply pretend none of it was happening.

She was so wrapped up in her war with Chi-Chi that it was almost easy to forget why they were here in the first place. They’d arrived in South City and were soon greeted by a ghost — Elo, Char’s younger brother, looked so much like him that Bulla had done a double-take. He seemed just as surprised to see her, and offered her a polite bow. He explained how he’d come on Marron’s direction, and Bulla felt her chest tighten at the mention of the woman’s name.

But there was no time for any questions on how her companion was doing or anything that she had missed. He quickly filled them in on the growing conflict between the Saiyans and Almone’s forces, and how the Saiyans claimed victories almost everywhere they went yet only ever seemed to drive Almone back.

“Almone’s lost every battle she’s been in against them,” he said.

Goten frowned, and Bulla looked at him like he’d grown two extra heads. “That’s _good_ , isn’t it?” she said. “If she’s losing, then we’re ahead.”

“She’s not really losing-losing though, right?” Goten said. “If they’re just pushing her back...”

Elo seemed to catch what Goten was suggesting. “You’re right, but it’s better than nothing. Now is our best chance,” he told them. “While everyone’s distracted, Krillin and 18 are smuggling Marron out of the city. They’ll regroup with us here and when they do, the real work will begin.”

The tightness in Bulla’s chest turned warm at the thought of seeing Marron again, but she fought down the urge to smile. “What’s the real work?” she asked. 

“Planning what comes after. There’s only going to be one victor at the end of this war, and if we play our cards right, it could be us,” Elo said. 

“You really think we have a chance?” Goten asked.

“Of course we do,” Bulla said. His uncertainty was beginning to grate on her nerves. “There are people here in the city, right? Other dissidents? Then we should rally and prepare them as soon as possible. We can lay low, gather useful information from a distance, and strike when the moment comes.”

“Strike with what?” Goten said, not unkindly but certainly more bluntly than she’d expected out of him. She shot him a look, but he didn’t so much as waver under her gaze. “We all know it’s probably going to be the Saiyans who win, and you saw first-hand how strong just two of them were. Imagine an entire _army_ of them.”

“With Vegeta—” she started, but Goten cut her off.

“Your dad’s strong, but he’s just one man. Don’t forget they have your mom and brother still, too. If anything, we’ll probably wind up on opposite sides more often than not, and there’s no way we’d win that fight.”

Bulla gave him a withering look, and he offered her an apologetic one in response, but she turned her head away. Elo looked between the pair of them before he cleared his throat.

“Bulla’s not wrong. We can gather everyone, get them prepared and gather information,” he said. “We probably won’t be enough for a war, but at the very least we can make sure everyone’s ready to defend. For now, both armies are still focused on one another up north.”

“When will Marron get here?” she said, shifting the conversation to her own liking.

Elo considered her question for a moment. “I...I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It depends on how quietly and when they managed to get her out, how distracted Almone’s men are, and how fast they can travel. It took me a week to get here, and hardly anyone even noticed I was gone.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Bulla was left to stew in her own frustration while she listened to Goten and Elo talk for a while before she tuned them out. There was too much on her mind to stay focused on the conversation they were having, so much so that she hadn’t even noticed that Goten was speaking directly to her.

“Bulla?” he said, probably not for the first time. Elo was walking away from them by the time she heard Goten.

“I’m going for a walk,” she announced abruptly. “Alone.” She didn’t bother to look at him before she left. Bulla could already imagine the hurt puppy-dog expression he was most likely giving the back of her head as she exited the room. But she needed a moment to gather her thoughts, needed to be away from everyone for a little bit. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Apparently, it was.

“ _There_ you are!” Chi-Chi seemed to appear out of nowhere. No, not nowhere — the depths of hell. Irritation immediately flared in Bulla’s chest when she caught sight of the approaching hell beast. “Do you realize that you left an entire pile of wet clothes just sitting on the ground?!”

“So what?” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood to do any more of your pointless chores.”

“Pointless?! Listen here, missy, this is important work that—”

Bulla had long since past the point of caring. She shoved by Chi-Chi and flew up a ways to get a better distance between them, ignoring the shouts and yells that chased after as she went. Once she could no longer hear her, Bulla came back down to the ground. She’d landed in what looked like an old, run-down shopping district. There were fewer people here than other places, each of them giving her a curious glance as she went by.

All she could think about was Marron. It struck her just how long it had been since they last saw each other, and she felt hollow because of it. She’d spent her entire life at her side, growing up in her shadow at first before finding her own place beside Frieza. And she was always there after every training session, after every visit with Frieza, and on her loneliest days. When he’d started hurting her, it was Marron who held and comforted her. Marron had never abandoned her, never willingly left her alone. Bulla wasn’t sure what love actually felt like, but if she had to guess, it was something similar to how she felt about the woman. All she wanted was to be held and told everything would be okay. 

Maybe that was why her chest ached so much, knowing that she’d get to see her companion again after so long but not even knowing _when_ that would be. She slowed her pace when she reached the edge of the city, her eyes searching the horizon off in the distance. Wherever Marron was, at least she was with people who would keep her safe. Krillin wasn’t a terrible person to be around, and she could only imagine what kind of woman her mother was.

Bulla sat in silence until the sun began to sink behind the clouds. She made her way back slowly, her mind wandering back to the present, from blue eyes and blonde hair to black eyes and black hair. He was so different from Marron in so many ways, though she couldn’t deny he evoked some of the same desires from her. For all her pride, she could admit that she did sort of enjoy being held by him. He had a way of touching her that made her shiver just thinking about it. In those quiet moments they shared, it was almost enough to make her believe he might not abandon her one day too.  _Almost._

She heard Chi-Chi before she saw her, and was quick to redirect her course to avoid being noticed. It didn’t take much to focus enough to figure out where Goten was and make her way in his direction. He was a few blocks away, near the busier marketplace in the city’s center. As she made her approach, however, she realized he wasn’t alone. His back was to her, but she could see around him.

A woman was standing in front of him, with straight black hair and pretty dark eyes. She wore a long dark green coat with a red star on the sleeve and was speaking animatedly to Goten. Without warning, the woman threw her arms around him and laughed when he hugged her back. Bulla stopped in her tracks. She felt an unexpected surge of emotion the longer she stared at them. Her cheeks grew hot as she struggled to contain the anger threatening to burst from her, but the more they laughed, the angrier she got.

At that moment, the woman suddenly caught her gaze and released Goten. Before Bulla knew it, the stranger was standing in front of her and breathlessly looking her up and down.

“It really is you!” she said, excitedly. “You’ve really grown up.”

Bulla had to work to unscrew her mouth from the tight line it’d formed. “Who are you?” The question came out far more sharply than she’d intended, though the woman hardly seemed to notice. Goten had followed the woman, though Bulla refused to look at him.

“I guess you were too young to really remember me,” she said. “I’m Mai. The last time I saw you, you were still in diapers.”

The comment only served to irritate her further. Mai didn’t look that much older than Goten, yet she managed to make Bulla feel like she was only a child. 

“Trunks and I used to play with Mai when we were all kids,” Goten explained, far too happily for her mood. “I had no idea you were alive! Have you been here the whole time?”

Mai turned her attention back to Goten, but Bulla maintained a steady glare. “I’ve been all over the place, actually. I was in contact with a few resistance groups up out west for a while, but when I heard Bulma left West City, I went looking for her.”

“Why? She’s never mentioned you before,” Bulla asked.

“Mai used to live with you guys,” Goten helpfully said. His helpfulness earned a pointed scowl in his direction.

“Yeah, that’s right. I know you don’t remember me, but we go way back,” Mai said. “I was there when your parents found out about you! Trunks couldn’t wait to tell every—”

“That’s nice,” Bulla snapped. She folded her arms neatly under her chest and adjusted her weight to one leg. “She’s with the Saiyans. So are you planning to go after her?”

“No, it’s best I don’t,” Mai said, unfazed by the annoyance in Bulla’s tone. “As long as Trunks and Vegeta are with her, she’ll be alright. I’ll be here to help any way I can.”

“I’m really glad you’re here, Mai,” Goten said. “I’m sure Trunks will be too when we see him.”

Mai smiled at that and slid her hands into her coat pockets. “I’m looking forward to seeing him again. It’s been so long...”

Bulla shifted her weight impatiently and finally looked up at Goten. His attention was on Mai, and he wore a small smile while he looked at her. The anger she felt was still there, though there was something else too, something that made her stomach and throat both feel tight. When Mai spoke again, Bulla made herself look away from him. That feeling bothered her too much and looking at him only made it worse.

“I’m going to go take a look around the city’s perimeter,” she said. “I’ll catch you two later. It’s really good to see you both.”

Bulla barely managed to force the strained smile for a few seconds before Mai walked away. “Hey,” Goten’s voice pulled her attention away. “Wanna go train?” She might have declined, given how she felt, but the sound of Chi-Chi’s yells managed to reach her again and the mere thought of dealing with _her_ right now was simply too much. They made their way to another deserted part of the city. Neither spoke as they went, at least not until they were alone, when Goten finally glanced down at her.

“What do you want to work on?” he asked. She stopped and he walked a few feet ahead of her, turning so that he was facing her as he spoke. “I mean, I have some suggestions if you’re not sure.”

“Suggestions?” she said. 

“Yeah. We should brush you up on the basics again, but with a little twist to make it more fun.” With that, he began to rise into the air, stopping only when he was about twenty feet up. “We’ll start small and work our way up, okay?”

Bulla followed him up, and he ran her through several different techniques. He focused especially on her speed and on showing her how to predict incoming strikes, the lesson taking her back to those Saiyans they’d come across. _He just doesn’t want me to distract him again. That’s why he’s showing me all of this,_ she realized. After nearly two months of training, she should have been better, yet she wasn’t. For all of Goten’s encouragement, for all of his attempts at assuring her she was doing well, all she could do was think about that golden glow around them, and how easily that Saiyan had dispatched her. Like she was _nothing._

“Wait — stop,” she said, pushing herself back from the hold he’d been trying to walk her through. “Show me how to do that...that Super Saiyan thing.”

The look on Goten’s face told her she wasn’t going to like his answer. “I can’t. Trust me, I would if I could, but...it’s not something I can teach.”

Expecting that answer didn’t make it any less frustrating, however. “Well, then who can?”

“Vegeta, probably. But...”

“ _B_ _ut?_ ”

Goten shook his head. “I’ve only seen him do it once before, and it was...well, I’d just rather he didn’t do the same to you.” Bulla eyed him a moment and crossed her arms again. Goten moved closer to her. “Bulla, believe me — if I could teach you that, I would. I really, really would. But it’s not something you can just learn. It’s...more than that.”

“Stop talking.” Bulla swung her leg around to kick him in the side, taking him by surprise. He recovered quickly and spun to counter, blocking her fist before it could connect with his cheek. They continued to spar in the air, which proved more difficult than she’d anticipated. Without having the ground to use as leverage, Bulla wasn’t able to slide his feet out from under him or gain enough purchase on him for her usual tricks. As they went, though, she began to notice more openings — points where he was vulnerable, and she began to exploit them as much as she could.

“O-okay, take it easy,” he complained at one point, having just avoided a particularly nasty strike. She ignored him and focused instead on the emotions that raged inside her; the desire to see Marron again, the frustration of not knowing when, and that _feeling_ she had whenever she saw Goten. The same feeling she got when he hugged Mai. The same feeling when someone said that dead woman’s name. It was a nagging urge to remind him that she was there, that she wanted him, that she wouldn’t let him forget about her. And somehow, it made her want to hit him even harder. 

She managed to do just that. Her knee came in to connect with the middle of his chest at the same time she brought a punch to his nose. Goten yelped and shot back in time to avoid a second punch, then abruptly vanished. Out of nowhere, she felt two arms hooking hers from behind to hold her in place. “Hey!” she yelled. She tried to kick back at him but only succeeded in giving him enough room to pin her legs with his own. “What gives?!”

“Time _out_ , Bulla!” he said. She struggled against him but he tightened his grip until she stopped. It hurt enough to make her focus more on taking in deep breaths, and he relaxed again the second she stilled. He brought them both down to the ground before he let her go, and she stumbled forward, brushing herself off as she did.

“Why’d you stop? And don’t try to pretend I actually hurt you,” she said, annoyed.

“That’s not why I wanted to stop. What’s going on with you?” said Goten. The concern in his voice was clear, but she chose not to dwell on it. “Is it my mom? I can talk to her about—”

“I just want to keep training, that’s all,” she interrupted him. “I can’t get any stronger or better at fighting if you keep pulling your punches or stopping me every time I actually do something right.”

He stepped toward her, closing the gap between them just a little bit. “I know you want to train, but you gotta pace yourself too. You gotta walk before you can run.”

“I’ve _been_ walking,” she said, turning back to face him. “All I do is walk, and when it comes time to run I don’t even know where to start. I’m tired of being useless, Goten.”

“You’re not useless,” Goten said. He finished closing the gap and took her face in his hands, tilting her head back gently so that he could look directly into her eyes. She tensed at his touch, yet she didn’t want to pull away. She should have. “It’s important you learn every possible thing you can about the basic stuff. I know it’s frustrating and boring, but it’s necessary. Sometimes it’s the basic stuff that’ll mean the difference between life and death.” His hands moved down to her shoulders to pull her against his chest, and she felt her heartbeat just a little faster. “I want you to live, so you have to trust me and deal with being bored for a bit, okay?”

Truthfully, Bulla didn’t know what to do with the new rush of emotion that swept over her. She didn’t even know what to call it. All she knew was that when she looked up at him, she wanted nothing more than to keep him there, to hold on to the way he’d looked at her. It was her own guilty pleasure, the one thing she had left ever since both Bulma _and_ Vegeta left her. Because she knew that if she died tomorrow, very little about Goten’s life would change. If anything, it might even get easier— his mom certainly thought so. He had countless people around him, from the villagers and his mother who hated her, to Mai and whatever number of other pretty women he was familiar with.

Bulla also knew that she shouldn’t have cared. He was a pawn, someone useful enough for now but when the time came she’d be ready to drop him. What did it matter to her what he did, or who he did it with? And yet, despite all of that, she still pulled him down by his shirt collar so that she could kiss him. For the briefest moment, he almost seemed like he was about to pull away. It spurred her on to deepen the kiss, to give him a reason _not_ to, and was relieved when he leaned into it. 

 _I don’t care. I just need him for a little longer, that’s all,_ thought Bulla. Goten guided them both to a partially ruined building, remnants of a little shop of some kind, all the while they continued their feverish kissing. Bulla moved almost automatically; her hands went to the waistband of his pants and tugged them down enough so she could take him out. His cock stiffened as she stroked him, causing him to gasp against her mouth. Her mind raced through all the ways he would eventually leave her alone, all the ways he would flourish without her, and she found she couldn’t _stand_ it. She needed him, and she would do whatever was necessary to make sure that he was hers for as long as she could make him.

The moment Goten’s back hit against a wall, she dropped to her knees in front of him. She vaguely heard him begin to say something, but when she took him in her mouth, whatever words he had turned into sharp gasps. She relaxed her jaw to take more of him in, then slowly pulled her mouth down his length and released him with a ‘pop,’ then repeated the process. Bulla licked and stroked and sucked and did everything she had been taught so adeptly that it seemed like he wouldn’t last much longer.

Normally, she would be repulsed by what she was doing. She usually hated this, hated the humiliation of it, yet now she hardly thought about it. His fingers were on the top of her head, gently rubbing her scalp as she went. There was desperation in her movements that she struggled to contain, but it helped to spur her on until his come came spurting out into her mouth. Some of it dribbled down her chin as she pulled away, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She smirked at the low groan he let out when he looked down at her through half-lidded eyes. 

Neither said anything as she got back to her feet, but words weren’t necessary right now. Actions were. Actions would be what kept him close to her, what ensured he’d stay with her. And more importantly, her next action was all she could think about. Bulla kissed him again, but this time there was no hesitation in his response. His hands were all over her, peeling off clothing in-between touching every surface of skin he could. By the time she was completely naked, he was hard again. It’d only been a week since they last did this, and yet her body seemed to react as if it’d been years. Again, she _wanted_ him.

Still, he paced himself; he set her on the edge of a nearby countertop and she let her legs spread for him. His fingers dove to her center, and the fact that she was already wet made it easier for two to slide in while his thumb was at her clit. Bulla’s legs spasmed slightly with every stroke of his thumb and she moaned as his fingers worked inside of her. But both were eager to move on, and all it took was his name falling out of her mouth for him to change gears. He took her by the waist and pulled her closer, lining himself up before sliding into her easily. She allowed herself to fall back against the counter, allowed him to be the one to guide them this time.

He picked up an almost brutal pace, his fingers pressing into her skin as he slammed into her. Every thrust made her mind go blank and elicited a sound from her; gasps and moans and little cries until the only word her mouth could manage was his name. Her hands went to his arms, fingernails digging into him and leaving red marks. Bulla brought herself upright again and moved her legs up to wrap loosely around his waist, then grabbed his hand and pulled it up to her chest. His hand cupped her tenderly, his thumb brushing over her nipple before he ducked down to put his mouth on her. Between all the different sensations happening at the same time, Bulla found it difficult to focus on anything else. 

Goten came undone first. One hand gripped her hip hard enough that she was sure he might actually leave bruises this time, and he moved the other from her chest to the counter for leverage. He thrust a few more times, slowly so he could ride out his release, though her own caused him to shudder and go still as her legs tightened around him.

“Bulla,” he said, breathless. _None of this matters,_ she reminded herself as she recovered. It didn’t matter how good it felt, or how her skin prickled when he said her name. _When Marron gets here, I won’t need him anymore._  

“Bulla,” he said again, only this time she could hear him. He leaned down to kiss at her neck just under her jaw. “Bulla, I love you.”

Instantly, she shoved him off of her. The abruptness of the action caused him to stumble back in surprise. He said...something, she didn’t know what — her heart was suddenly beating so loud that it was all she could hear. Bulla dropped off of the counter on legs that were weaker than she expected, but she smacked his hands away when he reached to help her up.

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. She refused to look at him as she gathered her clothes. 

“Hey, hey, slow down,” he said. He stepped closer to her, trying to get into her view, and she turned away. 

“Shut up,” she said. “Just shut up. You don’t know what you’re...just shut up.” Her mind was spinning faster than she could keep up with, even as she desperately tried to will herself into forgetting what he said. There was a coldness in the pit of her stomach, heavy as a stone.

“Bulla, please, I meant what I—”

“I said shut _up_ , Goten! What a stupid thing to say! Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Stupid!” Bulla still wouldn’t look at him as she dressed hurriedly. Her heart was beating so hard that it hurt, and her hands shook as she pulled her pants back on. “ _Stupid._ ” 

Bulla knew she had to leave. She had to get away from him, so she did. Going back to the houses they’d been given wasn’t an option, so once she was outside she flew up and...well, whatever direction she had been facing at the time. It didn’t matter. What mattered was she wasn’t around _him_. When she went back to the ground again, she was somewhere outside the city along the coastline. Her legs were still weak, and she let herself drop down on the grass to sit.

“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. “He’s an idiot. Why else would he...”

What he said made no sense to her. _Love._ He didn’t know what he was talking about. What the hell was he thinking? And _why_ would he put that on her? _Love_. What an idiot. Absolute moron. But if he was an idiot, then what did that make her? She never should have let him touch her — she should have just focused on training. Maybe if she had, she’d actually be able to fight for herself without having to rely on him. Maybe then she wouldn’t be in this mess. 

 _Love._ Idiot.

She didn’t sleep. Rather, she couldn’t. Bulla remained where she was through the night, her mind racing through all of her mistakes. By the time she’d resolved to return to the city, the morning light was beginning to stretch over the sky. But as she rose in the air, an abrupt sharpness cut through her and she plummeted to the ground, landing with a thud. At least she wasn’t very high up, she noted, but the inability to feel that warmth inside...that was concerning.

Bulla didn’t have to think too hard about what that feeling was; she’d spent most of her life with it. It was almost as if someone had slapped those jewels back on her, and her hand went to her hair out of instinct, despite knowing rationally that she wouldn’t find anything. But when she turned to look around, she caught sight of a massive black and purple hole in the sky, hovering ominously above South City. 

“What the...” It didn’t look real, especially from where she was. She got to her feet and stared at it as it swirled, watching as pulses of light rolled through it. Suddenly, she felt a rumbling under her feet and struggled to stay upright. When she looked again, that giant hole seemed to be...well, bleeding, for lack of a better term. Four tendrils fell from it and landed somewhere in the city. While she couldn’t feel anything from them, she could tell that something powerful was coming through. A terrible feeling settled in her as a new thought crossed her mind: if _she_ was cut off from her ki, then what about...

Everything in her brain screamed at her to stay put, but she was already moving. She’d gotten far enough away from the city that it would take time to get back, even if she kept running. As she got closer, so did the sounds of fighting. Gunshots were going off, followed closely by shouts and cries, but she didn’t come across anyone until she reached the city’s center. 

“Bulla!” She whipped around to see Mai running toward her, carrying a shotgun. She stopped in front of her and looked her up and down. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

The other woman’s worry made her realize she must have looked disheveled from earlier, but shook her head and looked skyward. “No, but — what’s going on? What are those things?”

“No idea, but the creatures they’re bringing through are no joke.” Mai glanced back over her shoulder at the sound of more shouting. “Goten went looking for you awhile ago. You didn’t happen to see him, did you?”

Bulla tightened her fingers into fists and glared down the street. _Of course that idiot would still..._ “No. No, I didn’t.”

“Damn. Well, I think he headed this way. Come on!”

She reluctantly followed after Mai. Try as she might, she couldn’t sense his ki — or any ki, for that matter. As they made it down the main street, a crashing noise came from a building above them, followed closely by a feral shriek. A small figure dropped to the ground in front of them. It was a horrible little creature, with greenish skin, claws, and large red eyes. There was a strange purple aura around them, dark and ominous like the hole in the sky.

“W-what are those?” Bulla said, but Mai jumped in front of her and fired her shotgun twice. 

“Not sure, but don’t let them grab you! They explode on impact,” Mai shouted back at her.

No sooner than she’d said that had Bulla turned around in time to kick one back away from her. It shrieked as it flew back into the concrete wall, though it only jumped right back up and shook itself off. Bulla took on a defensive stance as she waited for it to attack, but another shriek alerted her to the other creature beside them. The two jumped at the same time, and Bulla ducked down to counter it with an uppercut while Mai shot the one off to their side.

While Mai set to reloading her shotgun, the creature Bulla had punched came right back at them. She rushed it, using her knee to knock it off balance. As she went in for another punch, however, a wave of energy rushed through her, throwing her off enough to give it the opening it needed. It lunged at her, its arms and legs wrapping around her torso.

Before she could even try to fight it off, a loud blast surprised her. The creature dropped to the ground and she quickly kicked it away. Mai was at her side almost immediately.

“You alright?!” she said, and Bulla nodded. She looked up in the direction of the blast and saw two figures approaching them. One was a woman with spiky black hair, the other was Goten — or at least, it _looked_ like Goten. He was covered in dirt and blood, and barely able to walk. The woman was holding him upright with one of his arms over her shoulders. Bulla took a step forward but stopped herself short.

 _I don’t care,_ she told herself firmly. After last night, she couldn’t. As they got closer, however, it was easier to see the damage. _I don’t._ “Hey! A little help here, please?!” The woman shouted at them and Mai rushed toward them, shifting the shotgun to hang off her shoulder. Bulla hesitated before she followed. 

“What happened?” Mai asked. The woman came to a stop and eased him down to the ground. She wore a pair of goggles and the long sleeves of her shirt were torn in places, enough that Bulla could just make out the glint of something metal on her left arm. There was a red scarf tied loosely around her neck, and some sort of device on her wrist. And now that she was closer, Bulla could see she was definitely younger than all of them.

“He got a little blown up,” she said. “I don’t think he’s ever seen a saibaman before.”

“A what?” Mai said, and Bulla was silently glad she wasn’t alone in her ignorance.

“I-, uh...oh...nevermind,” she said. Bulla had just resolved not to look at Goten again when a sound he made forced her attention.

“S-sorry,” he managed to get out. Bulla felt her cheeks warm up. _Idiot, what are you apologizing for?_ she nearly said.

“The interruption got him at a really bad time,” the girl explained. “He was flying pretty high up when it hit, and he got jumped by a couple of those saibamen when he came down. He needs a—”

“Senzu bean,” Bulla interrupted. He groaned as if to confirm, then began trying to sit up on his own, though he made a pitiful show of it. “ _Move_ ,” she snapped at the two. “And you, _quit_ moving.” She knelt down beside him and dug through his pocket until she found the pouch. Miraculously, none of the little green beans appeared damaged, and he opened his mouth to eat it when she offered it to him.

“Sorry, B-Bulla,” he said, and she scowled at him.

“Stop it,” said Bulla. She swallowed against the thing caught in her throat. The senzu bean worked incredibly fast, and when he was able to sit up on his own, she moved away from him. He jumped back up to his feet and stretched his arms out, like he hadn’t been injured at all. Bulla put distance between them, though she didn’t need to work too hard to do that. Mai was quick to provide a distraction as she turned back to the girl.

“Thanks for saving him,” she said. 

“Yeah, thanks for that back there,” Goten added. “I thought I was a goner for sure.”

The girl gave an awkwardly loud laugh and brought a hand to the back of her neck nervously. “Really, it was no problem! I—” she cut herself off abruptly and paused, her head turning slightly. Bulla eyed her suspiciously and shot a glance to Mai and Goten. Mai returned the gaze and offered a light shrug. “I, uh, I should get going. It was great seeing you guys!”

It didn’t escape Bulla how _odd_ that sounded to her, but Goten beat her in speaking up. “Hey, wait! Have we met before? Are you with the city resistance?” The girl smiled, then held up her wrist to show off the device. 

“Sorry! I really gotta get going!” she said cheerfully. “Try not to get blown up again, okay?” If any of them intended to ask her anything else, they wouldn’t get the chance. The rumbling returned, shaking the ground beneath them and causing them to focus more on keeping their balance. When Bulla looked up, that giant black hole was slowly vanishing, like it was being swallowed up by the sky itself. All three of them remained silent as they watched, and when they looked down again, the girl was gone.

“What a weird kid,” Mai said. “You really didn’t know who that was?”

“No, not a clue,” said Goten. He glanced over at Bulla as though he wanted to say something to her, but seemed to think better of it. “We should...make sure everyone’s okay.”

With the exception of a few casualties and a dozen destroyed buildings, it seemed the majority of the city remained mostly intact. Both Goten and Mai separated, leaving Bulla to make her way back to the houses. She wished she hadn’t.

“ _You!_ Where’s Goten?!” Chi-Chi was running up on her so fast, Bulla doubted that flying would get her away fast enough. 

“He’s fine,” she said. “He’s back there somewhere, checking on everyone.”

Fortunately for her, Chi-Chi’s maternal instincts were stronger than whatever the ones that told her to harass Bulla were. She took off without so much as a second look at her, and Bulla was free to escape into the small home.

It was only when she shut the door that she realized just how _tired_ she was. The last handful of hours had happened so quickly, and so _much_ had happened, that she wasn’t even sure where to start. The shower, then, seemed as good a place as any. Everything else could wait.


	42. Butterfly Effect

Ever since Vegeta got back, it was like he was on a warpath of his own. He wasn’t kidding when he told her he’d get her the tools she listed, and he’d even gone as far as to secure a lab just for her. Bulma wasn’t entirely sure what had gotten into him. In her mind, the Saiyans and Almone should have taken precedence, but he insisted she study those rifts. It seemed as though he’d even managed to convince the king of its importance, at least somewhat.

She had to admit, though, having a lab and work to focus on was something she didn’t realize she needed so badly. Vegeta instructed the ship to change course and head for a rift nearby — not close enough to be affected by it, but enough for Bulma’s first prototype sensor to pick up on. There was just one thing she asked for that wasn’t granted. Trunks was _nowhere_ to be found, and no matter how many times she asked for him, he wouldn’t come. Vegeta had left earlier that morning to retrieve him, but another Saiyan returned in his place. The poor man clearly had no idea what he was getting into.

“What do you _mean_ gone?!” Bulma yelled. “He’s not supposed to be gone!” 

The Saiyan she was yelling at recoiled. “I-it’s like I said, ma’am, the prince’s son was sent by the king to—”

“He’s my son too, you know! You go tell _the prince_ that he’s got some explaining to do!” she demanded. 

She turned back to her table and leaned down against it, glaring down at the tools before shifting her attention to the window. The rift constantly swirled in place, like a slow vortex, and the occasional burst of light would flash through it. Even during the day it was unbelievably dark, and the power coming from it was immense. Her theories grew almost every day she studied it, and her initial suspicions seemed more or less correct. Dimensional rifts through time and space were certainly interesting, but the sheer energy emanating from just this one was intense. Any more like it, and it could be devastating. 

When she heard the door open, she spun around, fully prepared to scold Vegeta. Instead, Trunks stepped inside, looking about as normal as she’d come to expect. He offered her a warm smile and she crossed the room to meet him.

“Where on earth have you been?” she said. “They just told me the king sent you somewhere!”

“Oh, uh, I’m back for now,” he said. He nodded back to her workstation. “Sorry for intruding. You’re researching those rifts, huh?”

Bulma glanced over her shoulder and nodded. “Yeah, but it sure is difficult this far away from them. Your father doesn’t want to risk getting too close.”

“That’s probably for the best,” said Trunks. He walked closer to her table and looked down at it, eyeing the different prototypes she had lying around. “So, what have you found out?”

She moved to join him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Not a whole lot, I’m afraid. I’m running off the theory that they’re more like tears in the fabric of time. Without more direct interaction, there’s really no being sure of anything though.”

“Huh,” he said, picking up one of her sensors and looking it over. “You know, you probably don’t really need to get close. Have you tried upping the range?”

“I considered that, but I’m missing a few components,” she said, sighing. “And your dad...hey wait a minute! Did he send you here to try and make me forget how much trouble he’s in?” Trunks turned to look at her over his shoulder and blinked a few times, almost as if what she said confused him. He laughed, and for some reason, it sounded a bit nervous. 

“No, not at all! I came here on my own, I swear!” he said. But now that she thought about it, there was something _off_ about him. The more she looked at him, the more she noticed it. His hair was a bit longer than she remembered, and his face...

He quickly turned back to look at the table and she stepped forward, her eyes searching him even as he kept his attention on her prototypes. “I bet he’d be able to get you what you need pretty quick if you ask him.”

“Well, you know your father,” she said, still watching him carefully. “He knows better than to ignore me for too long. He’s probably on his way here right now, if he knows what’s good for him.”

Trunks nodded, then set the device he was looking at down. “Well, I’ll get out of here then. I wouldn’t wanna get in the way. You should really see if upping the range makes a difference.” He turned and headed back for the door, but Bulma let out a small laugh that made him pause.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” she said. “You’re not _my_ Trunks, are you?”

He managed to somehow jump out of his skin while not moving much at all, and he wheeled around to look at her with wide eyes. “W-what would make you—”

Satisfied with the confirmation, she gave a smug smirk. “You should have at least tried to be a little more convincing. I mean come on! Mine has scars on his face now, and his hair is totally different! They practically shaved it all off. You did a good job of cutting it, but it’s still way too long. Even my hair doesn’t grow that fast.” Bulma stepped closer and let the smirk disappear into a serious frown. “Now tell me, why’d you come here? How bad is it?”

Trunks hesitated, then smiled and laughed a little to himself. “I should have known there was no getting anything past you,” he said. “Well, there’s no helping it now. Chronoa will be angry, but...you already know I’m not from this timeline, so the cat’s out of the bag. And maybe there’s still time to save everything.” He paused, then reached up to pull a small device out of his ear. “I’ll probably get pulled away here in a few seconds, so I’ll say as much as I can. And don’t worry — no one will hear us. I’m a Time Patroller now...after Cell, the Supreme Kai of Time recruited me. She wasn’t too happy about your time machine.”

Bulma smiled wide at that. Somehow, knowing that one of her inventions was so good that it irritated a Kai made her feel a bit proud. “So, you came here to fix this one, is that it? Why didn’t you come sooner?”  _We sure could’ve used the help_ , she thought to herself, though she tried not to focus too hard on that. It wasn’t her future son’s fault that any of this had happened, after all.

“Actually, I’m not supposed to be here. The Supreme Kai of Time explicitly told me to stay away, that the risk was too great with Frieza around, but...” he said. He stepped closer to the window and pointed outside. “Those rifts out there are bringing things through, things that will destroy not just the planet, but your whole future. This entire timeline is getting eaten up bit by bit every time a new rift opens. There aren’t enough Time Patrollers to stop it, and in about twenty years, they’ll destroy everything.”

“Why would the Supreme Kai of Time keep you from helping? That doesn’t make much sense,” she pointed out.

“Time is...a delicate thing. Messing with it too much can have far-reaching consequences that none of us will even—”

Before he could continue, a light began to form at his feet and he glanced down. “Wait! Just one more second!” Bulma stepped forward but he held out his hand to stop her. He spoke quicker than he did before. “When he opened that wormhole, Frieza created a space-time cataclysm event. It’s affecting _everything_. You have to close it before it’s too late! Otherwise, it’ll spread to other timelines, maybe even other universes!”

“Close the...but Vegeta said Goku went in there and took Frieza with him!” Bulma said. The light was getting brighter, climbing up his legs like it was swallowing him whole. “Trunks, if we close the wormhole, what happens to Goku?”

“He’s trapped in a space between dimensions. It’d be suicide to go after him,” he said. The light had reached his chest and he gave her a remorseful look. “You can’t save him, mom. I’m sorry, but _please_...don’t try it. Your only priority should be closing the wormhole!”

“Trunks, I—” she began, but the light was so bright she couldn’t even see him anymore. Once it had gone, so had he. Bulma stood there for a moment, staring at where he once was while she thought about what he said. A space-time cataclysm event definitely didn’t sound good. And it certainly made sense why Vegeta was so worried about it — even if he didn’t know that’s what that was, his instincts probably told him the power from it was dangerous. But if it really was eating away at time itself…Bulma had a lot of work to do.

Don’t save Goku, though? Her son, no matter what timeline, should have known better than to think she wouldn’t still try.

With a sense of renewed determination, she focused on the sensor, worked on fine-tuning its features. Detecting where these rifts were and predicting where they might appear would be an invaluable asset to stopping them, and while she waited for Vegeta to return so she could give him a _new_ list of tools, it was all she could really do.

Hours went by before he finally arrived, although truth be told she didn’t even really notice. “Hand me that screwdriver over there,” she instructed the moment the door opened. He did as instructed, and once he was close enough she shot him a cutting glare. “Where have you been?”

“Busy,” he said. He watched her work and she gave an irritated snort at him.

“Well, you should know that I've been thinking about our _son_ a lot,” she said. “And his _future_.”

He paused, then stepped closer. To anyone who might have been watching, it looked like he was simply examining her work. But his voice was low enough that only she would hear him when he spoke. “What was he doing here?”

“He came to warn me about the wormhole. He said it’s destroying the planet,” she said, quietly. She twisted the screws in as tightly as she could before she passed it off to Vegeta to tighten them even more. “And that we have to find a way to close it before it’s too late for this timeline.”

“Hm. How _convenient_ ,” he said. “Anything else?”

“He said...when Goku went in, he wound up in a space between dimensions,” she said. “That we couldn’t save him.” Vegeta paused, then handed the device back to her silently. She searched his face, but her husband had never been one to wear his thoughts so plainly for everyone to see. Still, she noted how his eyes seemed to harden. 

“We’ll see about that,” he said at last. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. For all his talk, she knew deep down he valued Goku. Maybe not the same way she did, and maybe not in a way that most people would even understand, but still...it was something. “What else do you need?”

Bulma scooped up her new list and handed it to him. “I should be finished with the sensors soon, but I still need to be able to detect them from far enough away that we don’t have to risk getting too close.” Vegeta took the list and glanced down at it, then back to her.

“This is all?” he said. 

“For now, at least. I won’t know if I need anything else until I can run a few experiments,” she said. “Speaking of our son...where is he? I was told the king sent him off somewhere. Is that true?”

The scowl on Vegeta’s face was confirmation enough. “Yes, unfortunately. I wasn’t told until this morning,” he said. “I’ll be having a word with the king once _he_ returns too.”

Bulma frowned. “Vegeta, once I’m done with these…”

“I know,” he said. He looked back at the door a few seconds before it opened, and Bulma peered around him to see a man with the wildest mane of hair. She had the strangest sense of déjà vu, but it wasn’t until Vegeta let out a sound that sat somewhere between disgusted and amused that she realized why. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to stay alive here, Raditz.”

 _Raditz? Where have I heard..._ Bulma thought, but as he stepped closer, she remembered all at once. Their first interaction with a Saiyan, when they learned that Goku was an alien himself so many years ago. Kami, it felt like a century since that time. How weird to see this guy again and not even regard him as a threat. With Vegeta around, it was difficult to be intimidated by  _anyone_. 

“Laugh all you want, Prince Vegeta, but I’m here to retrieve you,” he said. 

“What for?” Vegeta said. “I’m getting tired of being _retrieved_ every time I turn around, you know.”

“That’s not _my_ problem,” Raditz said. “The king wants you there to plan the attack.”

“Wait, what attack?” Bulma interrupted. Vegeta shot Raditz a sharp glare as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I already told him I wouldn’t be part of that,” he snapped.

The sneer that spread across Raditz’s face made her want to punch him. “The king said you’d say that. He also said that if _you_ don’t join, then it would be the perfect test to see just how well your half-breed performs in battle.”

The speed at which Vegeta charged Raditz was so intense that it knocked a few of her tools off the table and onto the floor. Next thing she knew, there was a hole through the wall. She could see several other Saiyans beginning to gather around, peering curiously down at Raditz. Vegeta stepped through the hole and stood over him, his open palm aimed directly at him. _Oh no,_ she thought. Bulma quickly followed after them, climbing through the hole and grabbing at her husband’s elbow.

“Vegeta, _don’t_ ,” she said.

“Why not? It’s not like anyone would even notice this idiot was gone in the first place,” he said. Raditz struggled to sit up, giving a hateful look up at Vegeta as he did.

“Look, I don’t like him either, but you can’t let this place get to you,” she said. “Killing him is going too far and you know it.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he lowered his hand, but the sound of laughter drew his attention back down. “What a shameful sight,” Raditz said, coughing lightly. “That you’d let an earthling tell you what to do. It’s pathetic! Our _prince_ , domesticated.”

Vegeta growled and kicked him in the chin, knocking him onto his back. He pulled his arm away from Bulma and stepped closer to place his foot on Raditz’s chest. The other Saiyan clenched his teeth together to keep the pained groan escape him fully. 

“The only pathetic thing I see here is _you,_ Raditz,” Vegeta said. “My wife is the only reason you’ll be allowed to keep breathing. You’d do well to thank her.”

The look on his face made it clear that Raditz wasn’t about to follow Vegeta’s advice. Fortunately, her husband seemed to have lost interest in him. He gave Raditz one last kick to the jaw before he moved away from him, turning back to Bulma and leading her back to her lab. She cast one last glance over her shoulder and saw a woman crouched beside Raditz. He batted her away irritably, and Bulma caught her eyes when she looked up after them. 

“You weren’t really going to kill him, right?” Bulma asked, turning her gaze back on Vegeta.

“It’s what I should have done,” he said. “If they start to think I’m weak, they’ll stop listening to me.” _And worse,_ she finished mentally. They didn’t have as many opportunities to interact anymore, but every time she saw him, she understood the toll it was all taking on him.

“Vegeta...that attack he mentioned...” she said. She could see the way his shoulders tensed at her words, and that alone worried her. “What are they attacking?”

Several beats of silence fell between them before he answered, during which she struggled to remain quiet. Her husband never hesitated, and when he did, it could only mean something terrible. “Central City,” he finally said. “Almone has holed up there with a large portion of Frieza’s Forces. She’s weak and exposed and it won’t take much to flush her out. It’s an ideal time to strike.”

“But...but Central City...people _live there_ , Vegeta,” she said. It was almost as large as West City though not as opulent, with a large number of military trainees and slaves that lived and worked. It was also the second most fortified city in the world, next to West City.

“I know that. She’s using them as shields. Like a _coward_ ,” he said. His tone was far colder than she wanted to hear. Her throat suddenly felt dry, and she struggled to swallow.

“You can’t let them do this. Tell the king to wait — it’s not like you haven’t been beating her this whole time anyway! A few more fights, away from any cities, and she’ll be finished!”

“That’s not how war works, woman,” said Vegeta. “If we don’t flush her out, they can rebuild their ranks and the war would drag on even longer. Destroying her here and now is what any Saiyan would do, regardless of who she thinks she can hide behind.”

“A _Saiyan_ might do that, but not _my husband,_ ” Bulma said. She took a step closer to him. “You have to stop them, Vegeta. Who cares what they think? People’s lives are at risk!”

“So are Trunks and Bulla’s. If I continue to show weakness when I should show strength—”

“Killing innocent people is _not_ showing strength! You have to find another way,” she said.

She was desperate now. Desperate to keep her husband from going down that path again. Being around these Saiyans all the time, she had wondered what kind of effect it was having on him. Now she could see it clearly; some of them looked at him the way they looked at her. And who knows what they were doing to Trunks that kept him away. She didn’t think Vegeta would ever go back to being the same one she was terrified of back on Namek, but the shadows were there. And they terrified her.

“Vegeta, please,” she said. “ _Please_ don’t do this. Find another way. Look — tell him about the rifts! Tell him what the other Trunks told me! Convince him that that’s where the real fight is going to be.”

He considered her for a moment before nodding, though she wasn’t as comforted by it as she wanted to be. She hated this feeling, the doubt that settled in her heart. Bulma had always trusted him implicitly, she had always known that even if he didn’t really show it, he loved their family deeply. Every choice he made, he made for them. But right now, those choices weren’t as clear as they used to be. It was no longer a matter of good guy versus bad guy. Their enemies were more complicated than that, and she hated it. What she wouldn’t give for another world tournament to put an end to this madness.

After he’d gone, Bulma was left to work on her devices alone. That was at least until some people came by to fix up the new hole in her wall. They didn’t interact with her much at all and remained completely quiet while they worked, which was really a blessing. She thought she might get through the rest of the evening without anyone even trying to interact with her, but then someone knocked on the door.

“Come in!” she said absently. Bulma pulled off her safety goggles and turned around in her chair to see who’d walked in. It was that woman from earlier, the one who’d tried to help Raditz up after his confrontation with Vegeta. “Oh! Hi there.”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” she said, bowing slightly. “I brought you some food.” She was indeed carrying a tray, and Bulma moved to clear a portion of her workstation off quickly. 

“Wow, thanks! I appreciate it,” she said. “I would have totally forgotten to eat if you hadn’t come.” 

The woman smiled as she walked over and set the tray down. “That’s what the prince said. He asked me to look after you,” she said. “I’m Gine. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The food she’d brought smelled delicious, which only served to remind Bulma just how little she’d eaten that day. There were two plates full of meat and vegetables, maybe a bit more than she would normally eat, though she imagined they weren’t quite used to how little humans ate compared to them. While the food wasn’t arranged in an especially pretty way, it still smelled like heaven.

 _What a big softie, thinking about his wife at a time like this_ , Bulma mused to herself. It never ceased to amaze her all the little things he did to show how much he cared. It gave her hope that he wouldn’t lose himself in these Saiyans after all. She did note how much kinder this woman looked compared to the others. And it certainly helped that she wasn’t regarding her with the same suspicion they all seemed to. Vegeta must have chosen her specifically for that reason. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Bulma asked. Gine seemed surprised at the question, then shook her head.

“No, but I’ll eat once I get back to my quarters,” she said. 

“Please, have some of this with me! I could use the company,” Bulma said and offered her a seat at the chair next to her.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Gine started, but Bulma interrupted her.

“It’s rude to turn down an offer like that, you know,” she said. “Come on. It gets lonely being cooped up in here all by myself.”

The Saiyan woman relented and sat down next to her. The tail that was wrapped around her waist loosened a bit and settled in her lap, and she only began to eat once Bulma had. They sat in relative silence, although Bulma couldn’t stop stealing glances at her from the corner of her eye. Once she’d eaten a fair amount, she decided to end the awkward silence between them.

“Sorry about what Vegeta did earlier,” she said. “He can be really aggressive sometimes.”

Gine at first seemed mildly confused by the statement, before she abruptly nodded. “Oh, yes...but Raditz shouldn’t have provoked him like that.”

“You know how men are. Always wanting to fight no matter what their wives say,” Bulma said with a laugh.

“Wives...oh. Raditz isn’t my _husband_ ,” Gine said. “He’s my son. My husband’s with the king.”

It took a full minute for what she said to sink in. If Bulma hadn’t already swallowed, she might have choked to death on her food right then. “Your _son_?!” she yelled. All of the pieces came falling into place far too rapidly for her to keep up. If Gine was Raditz’s mother, and Raditz was Goku’s brother, then...then...

_Holy shit!_

Then she laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly. “Y-you’re kidding, right? I mean you look so young! There’s no way you’re his mom — he’s gotta be at least...at least older than me!”

“Are...you okay?” Gine said.

Bulma wasn’t even sure she could answer that. “Yeah...yeah, totally fine...” She shook her head quickly and chewed on her bottom lip. “S-so...you have another son, don’t you? Go-, I mean, Kakarot, right?”

At that, Gine’s expression changed. Her brow furrowed slightly and she looked away, her lips thinning into a straight line. She didn’t answer for a while, but when she did, Bulma recognized the tone in her voice all too well. “I did, but...Lord Frieza had him executed when he was just a boy. I never...I never understood _why_.”

 _Frieza, that coward,_ Bulma thought to herself. Anger swelled inside of her even as her heart broke for Gine. _So afraid of Goku that he’d murder an innocent child!_ “I’m so sorry, Gine,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked. Please forgive me.”

“I heard that he survived here, though,” Gine said. She sounded hopeful when she spoke, and Bulma nodded enthusiastically, eager to give the woman something to hope for.

“He did! He’s the one who defeated Frieza — multiple times now, actually! And a lot of other bad guys, too.” Gine smiled brightly and Bulma continued. “He even has a family! A wife and two boys. I hope you’ll get the chance to meet them one day.”

“So you know him?” Gine asked.

“He’s my best friend,” Bulma said proudly. “Besides Vegeta, there’s _no one_ I trust more.”

They chatted absently after that, with Bulma sharing stories about Goku as freely as though she was speaking to an old friend. By the time it was time for Gine to leave, Bulma could see where Goku must have inherited so much of his kind nature. Other than the tail, Gine hardly seemed like any of the other Saiyans on the ship.

But once the other woman was gone, Bulma was left alone to her thoughts once again. She glanced back at her workstation and frowned at them. “Well, back to it, I guess,” she said. Gine had been a nice distraction, but she felt a little guilty at falling behind on her work. An hour of tweaking and tuning and testing went by before she felt confident enough to give it a real test run. Bulma stood near the window and squinted out in the darkness, barely able to see the rift, but it was better than nothing.

“Alright, let’s see what you can do,” she said to her machine. She turned it on and watched the screen closely. At first, nothing happened. She twisted the dial to up its range a little, but still nothing. Had she miscalculated something? “What the heck is wrong with—”

Wait...was the floor rumbling beneath her, or...?

Another rumble and the entire ship rocked violently, knocking Bulma off of her feet and onto the ground. All of a sudden the screen in her hands went wild. The radar beeped loudly, practically screaming with how rapidly it was going off, and she struggled back to her feet to look out the window. The rift looked different somehow. Larger, more imposing, and now, even in the dark, it was much clearer. The purple coloring overwhelmed the black, swirling even more ominously than it had before. It took her a moment to notice it was still growing, but when she did, she realized it was getting even closer to the ship.

“Oh no! No, no, no!” she gasped. She started twisting the dials on the device she had quickly as if it would even help. Her eyes darted to the window and the rift was so close she could see it clear as day. “Damn it, I am _not_ going out like this!” 

Bulma smacked her hand down hard against the device and out of nowhere the ship jerked again. She was definitely going to have at least _three_ bruises on her ass by morning at this rate, but when she got back up, the rift was...gone. Well, almost. It was extremely hard to see. Bulma blinked a few times, confusion settling in as she strained to see outside. As far as she could tell, though, where there should have been that big ominous hole in the sky, there was only a tiny version of it.

 _Did I...do that?_ she thought, glancing down at her device. It was just supposed to be a radar. A way to detect these rifts, not disrupt them. Whatever she’d done, it seemed to do just that. She stared dumbly at it for a moment before the door to her lab swung open and in poured several Saiyans. Not a single one of them looked nearly as impressed with her as she did.

“What did you do, woman?!” the tallest one demanded.

“What did _I_ do?! I just saved us all, that’s what!” she snapped. It was probably better to leave out the fact that she also probably caused the danger in the first place. He regarded with a look of mixed disgust and suspicion before he waved forward his men. 

“Take the prince’s wife back to her chambers and seal off this room,” he ordered.

“Hey, wait! You can’t do that!” she said. Bulma clutched the device closer to her chest protectively. “In case you’ve forgotten, _your prince_ gave me this room to run experiments!”

He snorted. “And _my king_ commanded us to revoke that privilege the moment you step out of line!”

“Step out of...how dare you! Did you forget what I just said?! I saved us!” But her words fell on deaf ears; it didn’t take much for two of them to pry her device away. They weren’t very gentle with her, either, and she yelped out when they twisted her arm enough for it to hurt. “Watch it, buddy, or it’s my husband you’ll be answering to!”

The laugh the men shared chilled her. “Oh, yes, we’re all so afraid of the prince’s wrath,” the leader said mockingly. “Take her back to her chambers. It’s well past her bedtime.”

“You can’t do this!” she yelled again, but it didn’t matter. They were content to carry her off by her arms. “You’ll pay for this, do you hear me?!”

Their laughs echoed down the hallway as she was dragged back to her room. The door locked the moment it shut, and Bulma kicked it out of frustration, although she quickly regretted that. As she held her foot in pain, she glared angrily out the window.

 _I did do that, but how?_ she thought. _You better get back soon, Vegeta._


	43. Times Are Hard

“Wake up, dumbass.” Trunks opened his eyes enough to see Pasley standing by him, her hands on her hips as she stared down at him with a hard gaze. He sat up slowly, careful not to bump his head on the top of the bunk as he did. He shifted himself so that his legs went over the bed and onto the floor, but paused so he could rub his face with his hands.

Sleeping didn’t really seem to do as much for him as it used to these days. If there was a word to describe how he felt in full, he didn’t know what it would be. His head felt heavy all the time, and no manner of rest was ever good enough. And his dreams...well, they were something else entirely.

“We’re there?” he said. 

“Almost, or so they tell me,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the pilot flying the aircraft they were on. “I get the feeling they don’t like me.” Her tone was flat, and he offered a snort of laughter. 

“Join the club,” he muttered. He got to his feet and moved closer to the front so that he could look outside. From the looks of it, they were getting close to Central City, but why? Of all the places they could have gone, why there? No one had told either of them what was going on, but as he stood there, he felt a familiar ki approaching them. The aircraft slowed slightly, though it wasn’t necessary — Vegeta blasted right by as if they weren’t even there.

“What’s your old man doing here?” Pasley asked. Trunks frowned and his brow furrowed.

“I don’t know, but I get the feeling that whatever happens, it’s not gonna be pretty,” he said.

The aircraft came to stop some fifty miles south of the city and hovered motionless in the sky. Other ships did the same, surrounding a small perimeter of the forest below. Trunks watched as the larger of the ships stopped above them, a door slowly opening to allow the king an exit. He felt himself tense up at the sight of the Saiyan king, and his mouth twitched slightly. 

“Wonder what they’re talking about,” Pasley said. She didn’t have to wonder for long, though. The pilot looked back at them and nodded.

“King’s ordering you out,” he said. Trunks and Pasley headed for the door, but the pilot stopped them. “Not _you,_ earthling. Just the boy.”

Honestly, Trunks was impressed she didn’t smash his face into the console in front of him. She shot a pointed glare at him before stepping back and crossing her arms angrily, and Trunks offered her as reassuring a nod as he could muster. He stepped out and flew to join his father and grandfather.

“Trunks,” the king said. It was the first time he’d actually said his name. “Perhaps you can offer some insight for your father. Speaking from your experience as one of Frieza’s soldiers here, what advantages would one have by holding up in Central City?”

He caught the furious glare Vegeta shot the king. “You’re making a moot point. You already know the answer.”

“I know that, but you seem confused,” the king said, not bothering to look at him though the command in his voice was still there. “Answer the question.”

Without so much as a second thought, Trunks answered. “Central City is full of low-ranking recruits, enough to bolster the bulk of their forces but it’d take time. The city itself is heavily defended, though. There’s an energy field meant to repel aerial assaults and each tower is constantly manned.”

“Do you know its weaknesses?” The king never removed his gaze from Vegeta. 

“Yes. On the east side, there’s a section that was damaged years back that hasn’t really recovered. It wouldn’t take long to...” Trunks trailed off, finally able to stop himself from speaking. He wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t been able to before, but it seemed as though he’d say enough anyway. Though now he could see his father was seething, and his anger seemed at least partially directed at him. But what did he expect him to do? Disobey the king?

“I see no reason _not_ to attack,” his grandfather said, sounding almost bored. “Trunks has provided enough information to ensure a decisive victory.”

“And why exactly is that part of the wall in disrepair?” Vegeta snapped the question at Trunks.

“I...because it’s located in the slums,” he said. 

“The _slums_. And who lives there?” 

He understood what his father was getting at, though part of him wished he hadn’t asked. “Former slaves, mostly. Women and children, some cripples who couldn’t make it in the Forces.”

The king barely even reacted. “We’ll provide them a quick release from their pitiful existence, then.”

Trunks shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t have the cleanest hands by far, but he’d never killed anyone just outright like that. Certainly not innocent people. Certainly not in a war. He wanted to say something, though the words wouldn’t come to him. Fortunately, Vegeta didn’t have the same problem.

“Trunks, is there any other way into the city?” His father had a look to him that Trunks hadn’t seen in years.

“Sort of,” he started, carefully. His fingers itched for some reason, but he did his best to ignore it. “There’s an old train station on the north side where the trainees are transported between posts.” Trunks said. He’d been to that station before, years ago after Frieza’s victory had been secured. “There’s plenty of access by way of the old tunnels.”

“Then we go that way,” Vegeta said, decisively.

“It’s a lot riskier,” Trunks pointed out. “They’d be alerted right away.”

“Who cares? That’s where we’re going.”

Vegeta turned to look at the king, his arms folded over his chest as he regarded the older Saiyan. This time, it was the king’s turn to become irritated. “You’d really go through so much trouble? Very well, have it your way. You will lead a small infiltration unit and bring down the energy field from within,” he said. “But if you _fail,_ I will see to it that nothing remains of this city.”

As Vegeta made to leave, the king motioned back toward the ship he’d been on. The door opened and several Saiyans emerged. The first few that Trunks saw were relatively unremarkable — but when the last man appeared, Trunks wasn’t sure he believed his own eyes. 

“G-Goku?” Trunks said. The man gave him a sharp look and scoffed, but said nothing. Trunks turned to look at his father, hoping that he wasn’t alone in his shock, or at least not going insane. To his relief, his father seemed just as surprised as he was, although he recovered far more quickly. Almost as though it hadn’t even affected him.

“ _These_ are the men you want me to take?” Vegeta said. “A bunch of low-class warriors?”

“Given your own abilities, I’m sure you’ll manage just fine,” the king said. “You have one hour before I lay siege to this city. I suggest you use your time wisely.”

“Fine. Let’s go, Trunks,” Vegeta said. Trunks glanced at the king as if waiting for...waiting for what? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t move to follow his father until the king had nodded.

 _That was weird,_ he thought. _Not as weird as that guy, though._ His eyes found the Goku look-alike again as they went and he was once again reminded of how much weirder _that_ was. _Is this another version of Goku? A Goku raised as a Saiyan from the start would be...intense,_ he thought. But his father didn’t appear nearly as interested as he was. Or maybe he was just too focused on the task ahead. Should he be focused on the task ahead? Probably. No — definitely. Either way, Trunks’ thoughts were so overwhelming that he hadn’t realized just how much he’d been staring until the man suddenly shot him another dark glare.

“You got a problem?” he said. His voice was so different from Goku’s that it was the first real disconnect between the two men. That, and the large scar on his cheek. 

“Uh...n-no, not at all,” Trunks said. He quickly looked away. The man moved ahead, away from Trunks but not quite surpassing Vegeta’s speed. He pushed himself forward so that he was at his father’s side, and nodded toward the city ahead of them as it came into view.

“We should approach on foot. The longer they don’t know we’re here the better,” Trunks said. Vegeta made a sound that Trunks would have liked to think meant ‘great idea, son,’ but probably not, and led the descent to the ground. Once they’d landed, Trunks led them to the underground maintenance entrance and easily pried the door open. All six of them went down, with Not Goku bringing up the rear.

“It’s about five miles to the mainline,” Trunks said.

“No dawdling. We need to move quickly,” Vegeta snapped. “If anyone falls behind, you’ll stay there. Understood?!”

His father wasn’t joking. They tore down the tunnels so quickly that the entire structure began to crumble in their wake. The moment they reached the main station, the fighting began. If you could even call it that, anyway. Nearly every soldier there was green — far too green for even a small force of battle-hardened Saiyans. Trunks tried to not think about it, tried to only fight the ones who got in the way. It still turned into a slaughter more than an actual fight. The recruits quickly abandoned their attempts to fight back once it became clear they wouldn’t win. Yet as dozens of them turned to run, two Saiyans broke off in pursuit.

“Hey! Get back here!” Vegeta barked after them, but they ignored him. “ _Idiots_. Trunks!”

“Right!” Trunks followed his father as they chased down the other two. By the time they caught up, the Saiyans had killed two of the runners already. They had several of them cornered, but as one rose his hand to strike them down, Vegeta took his arm and used it to fling him back. Trunks rushed the other and sent him flying into the wall opposite of the recruits, every one of them cowering. They looked young, barely older than Trunks was when he was recruited, and the realization made him feel sick. _Don’t think about it,_ he willed himself. _Not now._

“The hell is wrong with you?!” the Saiyan Vegeta had knocked back yelled.

“I gave you an order. I expect you to follow my every instruction without question, got that?!” Vegeta said. Both Saiyans rose to their feet and glowered darkly at the pair.

“So the king was right,” one said. “Being on this planet’s made you weak.”

 _Oh no,_ Trunks thought. _This won’t end well for you, big guy._ He wasn’t wrong.

“Weak,” Vegeta growled. Without warning, he grabbed hold of the Saiyan by his throat and hoisted him up effortlessly. A surge of energy rushed through the room as light surrounded Vegeta, and Trunks could only stare as his father’s hair instantly turned gold. “I’ll show you weak!” He raised his fist, but before he could swing, a voice interrupted them.

“Prince Vegeta!” Not Goku shouted. “We don’t have have a lot of time before the king orders the siege. If you _really_ want to spare these people, you’re going to have to let him go.” The way he was eyeing Vegeta was strange to Trunks. It was almost as if he was sizing him up.

Trunks watched as Vegeta’s grip tightened around the Saiyan’s throat. “Dad,” he said. “We have to go.”

Vegeta released the man, dropping him like a ton of bricks. Power waved off of him as he returned to his base form, the force of it knocking the Saiyan back a few feet more. Trunks looked down at the one he’d taken care of and offered his hand out, but the offer was rebuffed.

 _Screw you too, buddy,_ he thought as the Saiyan jumped back to his feet and glowered at him. His gaze caught Not Goku’s again as the Saiyan passed him. Vegeta had gone ahead of them, but as the two Saiyans began to pass Not Goku, he stopped them.

“We do this the prince’s way, got it?” he said. His tone was measured but didn’t lack in sharpness.

“Whose side are you on, Bardock?” the taller of the two grumbled.

 _So his name’s Bardock. Better than Not Goku, I guess._ “His side _is_ our side, Tora,” Bardock answered, then he stepped aside to let them pass. If they weren’t on such a tight schedule, Trunks might have taken the time to question him on his relation to Goku, though he could probably guess well enough.

The four of them caught up with the others and continued their ascent through the station. At first, it seemed as though they’d lucked out by only coming across the raw recruits early on, but their luck ran out once they hit the surface. Getting to the capitol building would have been easier if the place wasn’t teeming with soldiers. Within seconds, alarms began to blare through the streets, alerting the entire city to their presence. 

“ _Damn it,_ ” Vegeta growled as soldiers began to advance on them. 

“Uh...got a plan B, dad?” Trunks asked, but the look his father threw his way was enough to silence him.

“Just get the damn shield down. Quickly. I’ll deal with this mess myself,” he grumbled. Trunks nodded, and the pair took off in opposite directions; his father went straight into the thick of battle while he headed for the building. It wasn’t until he was halfway there that he realized he’d been followed, and when he turned, Bardock was close behind.

“What are you—”

“Shut up and just focus on what you need to do,” Bardock interrupted. “I’ll handle the fighting.”

Trunks would quickly come to appreciate Bardock’s help. He hadn’t even gotten to the building yet before they reached a few squads of Armored Forces soldiers — some of whom he vaguely recognized from West City. _Don’t think about it,_ he told himself for the second time. _Just don’t._ So he didn’t. It was surprisingly easy not to, actually.

They fought their way through the Armored Forces groups, going over wave after wave of them until they finally made into the building itself. But once they were inside, Trunks realized that there was definitely something _wrong._ This wasn’t the military outpost he was expecting — and there weren’t many soldiers inside.

“Not much of a base,” Bardock commented dryly. Trunks’ frown only deepened the further they went inside. “Thought there’d be more fighting if I came with you.” He almost sounded disappointed. No, wait...not almost. Actually, truly disappointed.

“The control station’s around here somewhere,” Trunks said. “Once we drop the energy field, we can get back out there.”

“The sooner the better,” the Saiyan said. Not sooner than he’d said that had they rounded the corner to find a group of soldiers. Only, some of them weren’t really soldiers — they were recruits, just like the ones from the station. Young and terrified, but they still followed their superior’s orders.

“That’s them! Atta—” The commander barely had time to speak before Bardock’s fist collided with his jaw. He was sent flying back and through a wall, and the Saiyan waited only a moment before he growled in frustration.

“ _Really?_ That was it?” he said, annoyed. He turned back toward the younger soldiers and glared at them. If it was possible for them to shrink any further into their too-big armor, they would have. “Well, go on. Beat it, you little brats!”

He didn’t have to say that twice. Trunks watched as they scurried off in terror, and he couldn’t help but let the confusion wear itself plainly on his face. “They’ll probably go get more soldiers,” he said. Bardock scoffed at him.

“Who cares? Using kids like that while they sit back and do nothing...they should face their fights head-on, not hide behind children.” 

“Can’t disagree with that,” Trunks said. “Come on. I think we’re close.”

He couldn’t be sure how much time had actually passed, but he could tell the sounds of battle were getting closer to them. Luckily for them, they managed to find the control room quickly, though it was occupied by a couple of elite soldiers and a handful of scientists. Not that that was a problem — Bardock was especially eager for a good fight. As the scientists hurried away through steel doors, Trunks and Bardock engaged the elites.

Even as they fought, Trunks couldn’t help noticing how different his movements were from Goku’s. His memory was admittedly fairly hazy when it came to such things, but he honestly couldn’t remember if Goku was as ruthless. He wasn’t quite as quick or precise as his father, though every hit seemed to land heavier and considerably more brutally. And he certainly wasn’t interested in dragging any of it out, either. When the two elites dropped to the floor, Trunks couldn’t even say for sure whether or not they were alive. The bloody pulps barely made a noise.

The doors opened and more soldiers began to pour in, but Bardock shoved Trunks back toward the second set of doors the scientists had rushed through.

“Get it done already! I’ll take care of these guys,” he said. “My hands have been itching for a real fight anyway.”

Trunks wasn’t in a position to argue. He gave chase, busting through the steel doors with relative ease and grabbing the first scientist he saw by the collar. The man yelped in surprise and fear as Trunks dragged him to the control panel, several others diving out of the way. 

“Shut down the energy field! _Now!_ ” he barked, practically throwing the man at the panel. Flustered, the terrified man clung to the surface desperately, and when he didn’t immediately move to comply, Trunks reached down to grab the front of the man’s shirt. His eyes darted to the nametag he wore. “Bonsen, huh? Listen Bonsen, if you don’t lower the shields, I’ll blast your head off and move onto the next person here. I’m sure one of them will be smart enough to listen.”

The man whimpered but still didn’t move. Trunks gathered enough ki in his hand to create a tiny ball and held it close to the side of Bonsen’s head. He grit his teeth and steeled his nerves, willing himself once again to push aside his doubt. “Don’t make me do this,” he said quietly. “ _Please_. You don’t wanna die for this.”

“A-a-alright! P-please, I’ll— I’ll do it!” Bonsen said and relief washed through Trunks. He watched carefully as he began typing into the holographic keyboard, and when the screen came up to indicate the shield had been removed, Trunks gave a satisfied nod. 

“Get out of here. Go!” he yelled at them. They tripped over themselves as they rushed out. Bonsen took one last look back over his shoulder before he disappeared around the corner. Trunks made to leave so he could rejoin Bardock, but an abrupt rumbling caught his attention. He turned back around, his eyes searching the room before he realized there was another door. Smaller than the bigger ones he’d come in through, and the window beside it showed a darkened room on the other side. The rumble happened again, but he could tell it was coming from beyond that door.

 _Ignore it,_ he told himself. _Get back to dad and the others. You have orders to follow._

Turns out, he wasn’t very good at listening to himself. Trunks approached the door cautiously and opened it slowly. As he stepped inside, lights began to flicker on and he saw that it was massive _._ It was almost the same size as his father’s old training room back in the day, with a taller ceiling that opened up in the center. He could see the sky clearly from where he was, and Trunks squinted up at it before trailing his eyes back down. Directly below on the floor was a stand of some kind with a panel attached to it. He moved closer, trying to get a better look at what it was.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut and the room darkened again. He spun around to see Bonsen on the other side of the window, typing away furiously on the control panel. “Hey!” Trunks yelled. He made for the door, but a purple light filled the room and the rumbling returned. When he looked back, it was like something in thin air was _bubbling_ into existence by the control panel. It was hard for him to describe what he was seeing, but he could definitely tell what he was feeling — power, unlike anything he’d felt before, and it was right there.

He realized a second later that that power was drawing him in, pulling at his muscles even as he resisted it. Trunks managed to jump back a few feet though that was as far as he could get. The thing materializing was growing larger by the second, and so was its strength. The more he fought against it, the more every fiber of his being burned. He struggled to stay on his feet, his knees quaking with the effort until he finally stumbled to the ground. His fist hit the ground hard enough to put a small hole in it, just enough for him to have something to hold onto.

“Turn it off!” he shouted. “Turn it off or I’ll—”

Another rumble and he lost his grip on the floor and he slid toward it. In a last-ditch effort, Trunks ascended into his Super Saiyan form, giving him enough leverage to pull back away from it. But a sharp pain shot through him and he instantly lost the form, his body shuddering from the abrupt loss. He managed to punch two more holes into the floor to stay where he was, but the mass was expanding through the room. He didn’t know what it was, what it would do if it reached him, yet somehow he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that death wasn’t far away from him.

A loud crash forced him to look up just in time to see Bonsen flying overhead. He’d barely been able to let out a scream before he vanished into the mass. Trunks heard his name being called and when he looked back he saw Bardock in the window. He was struggling against the pull as well, but he dropped into the room with enough force to create a decently sized hole to hold onto. Once he was close enough, he held onto the bent metal so he could hold his hand out.

“Come on, kid, grab my hand!” he called to Trunks. 

 _Easier said than done._ As soon as he reached up, another shockwave rushed through them and he struggled to keep hold of the floor. A few feet away, he could just make out a form appearing out of thin air, taking the shape of a small, round creature that seemed eerily familiar to Trunks. There was a purple aura around it, but even then Trunks could tell it had bright pink skin.

“What the _hell_ is that?!” Bardock said. The creature responded with a gleeful yell and bounded toward them, seemingly unaffected by the pull from the thing in the center. Trunks barely managed to get out of the way, using all of his strength to leap back and create another hole to grab onto. It set its sights on Bardock next, who quickly swung around to kick it back across the room, although the action was a double-edged sword. He lost his grip for only a second, but it was enough to send him flying toward the mass.

“Bardock!” Trunks yelled. He let go of the ground and pushed himself forward, catching Bardock’s arm just before his feet touched the mass. This close to the vortex took an immediate toll on both men, and that creature’s laughter rang through the room as it got right back up.

“You gotta be kidding me!” Bardock yelled. Trunks strained to keep hold of the other man’s arm, but he could tell his strength was already beginning to fail. Between the strange mass and the creature, he wasn’t sure which one would kill them first.

Trunks looked up at the hole in the ceiling. _Come on, dad,_ he thought. _Now would be a really great time for a dramatic rescue._ But his father didn’t come, and the creature crashed into them, forcing Trunks to release his hold on the floor. Losing their last tether surely meant the end, and he closed his eyes against the inevitable. 

Fortunately for them, a dramatic rescue came after all. The vortex abruptly disappeared and its overwhelming power with it. The creature was still there, still surrounded by that purple light, and it still launched itself at them to attack. A burst of light smacked into it, though it only seemed to make it pause. Trunks’ eyes darted around the room wildly, looking for their rescuer, and where he expected to see his father or maybe another one of the Saiyans they came with, he instead saw a young woman. Judging by her tail, she was clearly a Saiyan too, although not one he recognized.

“You hurt Buu!” the creature cried in a high-pitched voice. “Buu gonna eat you!”

“I’d rather you didn’t!” she called back. The creature — Buu, apparently — shrieked in response and charged her. Bardock leapt up with a grin on his face.

“ _Finally_ ,” he said before he jumped into the fight. Trunks struggled up to his feet and held onto his arm, sure that he had twisted or pulled something in his attempts to keep them from getting sucked into that thing. For as large and ridiculous as the creature was, however, it was clearly very strong. Even the two Saiyans seemed to struggle against it, and Trunks quickly joined the fray himself. Three against one should have meant they had the upper hand. Instead, it only seemed to frustrate Buu, and in turn, it lashed out even more viciously.

“Buu hate you!” it yelled as it swung its fists around. One caught Trunks in the jaw and sent him flying back into the wall. Bardock struck it from behind, only to have it whirl around and kick him square in the chest with both feet. It knocked Bardock down to the ground, but just as it tried to follow, the girl had flung two ki blasts into it, leaving clear marks on its flesh. Trunks launched himself forward and kicked it in the back, sending it flying to meet Bardock’s fist. Between the three of them, they each sent an energy attack that flung it up into the ceiling, crashing through it and creating a second hole. 

Yet even that didn’t seem to faze it as much as they’d have hoped. “That’s it! Buu mad now!”

“Like you weren’t before?” Trunks said.

“That thing is seriously strong,” Bardock added, though he sounded more impressed than anything. It flew back down toward them, a shock of violet light shooting from it. Both Trunks and Bardock managed to dive out of the way, but something that looked suspiciously like a giant tongue wrapped itself around the girl. She struggled against it briefly before it swung her around, violently jerking her in the air. Both Trunks and Bardock fired blasts in its direction, but it focused its efforts on the girl instead. It dragged her to the ground and landed on top of her, crushing her into the floor with a loud scream. Large fists pounded down onto her, breaking the floor beneath them more and more with every brutal hit.

“Hey, you big ugly oaf!” Bardock yelled. It looked up in time to get a face full of energy. Trunks followed in suit, sending a blast of his own to knock the creature off the girl. Bardock rushed it while Trunks went to the girl’s side, prying off the rope-like thing wrapped around her. She was clearly dazed and blinked rapidly when he came into view.

“You okay?” he asked. She mumbled something, though he couldn’t quite hear her over the sound of Bardock and Buu’s fighting. “Good, good, keep talking, alright?” He stood up and pulled her to her feet, and she wavered in place. She brought her right arm up and pressed a button on the device around her wrist, and Trunks turned around at the sound of a particularly angry noise to found that Bardock had the creature’s head in an armlock. Trunks watched as he squeezed tightly, and a sickening crunch rang through the room. A second later, it dropped to the ground with a thud. She pushed another button and it began to fade away.

“What the — wait! What’d you do that for?” Bardock barked at her. “We could have taken that back to the king!” He crossed the room to stand in front of her, and Trunks stepped between them. But something had already stopped Bardock as his eyes locked on her face, and a mix of confusion and disbelief crossed his features.

“S-sorry,” she said. She wavered again, her hands shaking as she once again held the device up. “Gotta go. Got a...got a job to do.” 

“ _You_. You look like...” Bardock began but was cut short when the girl collapsed. Trunks caught her before she hit the ground, and glanced at Bardock. He hadn’t removed his gaze.

“You know her?” Trunks asked. 

“No, I...I don’t,” he said. The ceiling above them quaked, and Trunks looked up. The two holes allowed them to catch sight of the Saiyan fleet going through the air, and Trunks looked back down at the girl.

“We can’t leave her,” he said. “We gotta get her back to the ship.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Bardock said, shaking his head as if to break himself from the staring. “I’ll find the prince...tell him what happened.”

“Right. Good luck,” said Trunks. With that, he carried the girl with him, Bardock remaining at his side until he’d gotten clear of the battlefield. He returned to the ship to find Pasley still aboard, and none too happy about her lot. She looked ready to say something as he boarded, but she caught sight of the girl in his arms and her brow furrowed.

“Who’s that?” she asked as he carried her to the bunks. 

“No idea. She just showed up and helped Bardock and I out of a tough spot,” he said. He set her down onto the bed and looked around. “They keep any medipills here?”

While Pasley looked through the compartments around the ship, Trunks took a moment to look over the girl. She had several injuries and scars both old and slightly newer, and he noticed that her left arm seemed to have some kind of metal wrapped around it. He narrowed his eyes as he gently pulled at her torn sleeve to see what it was, but quickly discovered that it wasn’t just something on her arm — it _was_ her arm. 

“What the hell...” he muttered. There seemed to be some sort of design on the forearm, and he leaned closer to get a better look. “ _Capsule Corp?_ ”


	44. Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Explicit sexual content inbound.

It had been two weeks since he’d really screwed that whole thing up, and it hadn’t gotten any easier. Initially, Goten had made an effort to speak to Bulla once or twice a day. But after a few days of being blatantly ignored or harshly snubbed, he gave up and figured that when she was ready to talk, she would go to him. Except now it seemed like he’d be waiting a lot longer than he thought. Because before Marron arrived, Bulla had made it a point to avoid him. Now that Marron was here, he might as well have stopped existing altogether. 

He had to admit that he hadn’t been sure of what to expect when Krillin and his family came back, but it wasn’t Bulla’s reaction. She’d rarely spoken about Marron except when she was asking Elo for updates on her whereabouts, and she’d certainly not talked to Goten about her. But the way she practically threw herself onto Marron when they first saw each other, and the tears on her face while they hugged made his stomach drop. He was happy for her, he really was, but he couldn’t ignore that feeling. He found an excuse to go elsewhere, choosing instead to meet with Krillin, Elo, and 18. It was easier to focus on that right now anyway.

Well, maybe focus wasn’t the right word. He found it difficult to focus on anything right now, even when it came to the important stuff like bolstering the city’s defenses. Mai had plenty of suggestions, and Elo’s experiences in Frieza’s Forces proved invaluable. Both 18 and Krillin seemed to have something up their sleeves they weren’t willing to share right away, and Marron, for her part, had given over whatever information she had. Yet despite all of that, he couldn’t stop thinking about Bulla. She was on his mind constantly, no matter how hard he tried to keep her out. 

While he didn’t think she would come to him to talk anytime soon, he’d hoped that she’d at least eventually turn to him for training. But it seemed as though even then she didn’t need him — she had Marron’s mother for that. Not that there was anything _wrong_ with 18. She was a very skilled fighter, and he could understand why Bulla would want to learn from her. Plus, he told himself that her style might work better for Bulla anyway. She knew what it was like to be underestimated and could show Bulla how to use that to her advantage. Silver linings, and all that. Still, it didn’t exactly make it easier.

His mom picked up on the rift between them around the end of the first week, which was both good and bad. Good because she wasn’t breathing down Bulla’s neck anymore. Bad because now she thought she had been right all along. And she wasn’t the most tactful about it either, though he knew she wasn’t trying to be mean about it. She just couldn’t help basking in her own rightness, and it meant having to listen to stories about how vulgar and shameless Bulma was in her own youth. As if that somehow meant Bulla was, by extension, guilty of offending his mom.

While it still stung to see Bulla with Marron, and how easy it was for her to be affectionate with the blonde woman, Goten was able to keep his mind and body busy. All the while knowing that his feelings hadn’t really changed. He liked her — he _loved_ her, in fact, even if he tried not to — and as much as it hurt to see her with someone else, at least she wasn’t alone. And if she didn’t want him, then he could learn to live with that so long as she would be taken care of.

So, Goten had to work hard to keep from the self-pity that threatened to overwhelm him almost every day. Fortunately, there were plenty of distractions to be had. Preparations for the inevitable fights to come were underway and all of them had jobs to do to ensure everyone was ready. He was in the middle of helping Jilby set up a new dish on the radio tower when he heard someone call his name. Goten glanced down to see Krillin waving up at him with a broad smile.

“Hey, Goten! Got time to train a bit?” he called up to him. Goten grinned and looked to Jilby, who impatiently waved his hand before he could speak.

“Fine, get out of here. You already did the heavy lifting. I can handle the rest,” he said. “Tell Suno and Uata to get their butts to work.”

“Right, can do. Thanks, Jilby!” Goten said. He hopped down to meet Krillin, who put his hands on his sides and chuckled.

“Figured you could use a break from all that work,” he said. “You ready for some fun?”

“You bet!” he said, happily. They made their way outside the city, laughing and joking as they went. Goten was really glad to see Krillin again — with everything going on, it was nice to have some familiarity with someone who wasn’t so outwardly weighed down by the world. 

“So Gohan’s all normal again, huh?” Krillin asked. Goten had filled him in on as much as he could, although he shook his head at that.

“I don’t know about normal, but he’s not under Frieza’s control anymore,” he said. “He said he’d be back when he’s...” Goten trailed off as they approached the field, his eyes trailing up to catch sight of the two women above. He knew 18 had been training with Bulla since she’d arrived, but he hadn’t had a chance to see for himself. Well, actually, he had plenty of chances that he just didn’t take. He doubted Bulla wanted him hanging around. Now that he was here, though, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Her blue hair was pulled back into a tight braid, and the form-fitting outfit she wore was new to him. Black pants, a red top, a pair of heavy-looking boots and fingerless gloves. It made her look a bit more severe than usual, and he noticed how even the way she moved seemed more violent than usual. At one point, 18 kicked Bulla in the chest and fired a ki blast at her, and Goten had to resist the urge to get involved. But Bulla deflected it, smacking it down to hit the ground a couple of feet in front of the two men. Krillin jumped back and let out a slight yelp. The sound caught both women’s attention, and Goten flinched under the scowl Bulla directed at him.

“What are you two doing here?” 18 said, crossing her arms as she descended. Bulla remained where she was, though she crossed her arms as well and looked away from Goten. 

“Thought we might join you guys for a group sparring session!” Krillin said.

“I don’t appreciate you springing that on me like this, dear,” 18 said, though she shrugged. “But that’s not a bad idea.”

“No,” Bulla said. Both 18 and Krillin looked up at her, but Goten redirected his own gaze to the ground. “I’d rather train with 18 alone.”

“Aw, come on, Bulla! It’ll be fun,” Krillin said. “Boys versus girls?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll train with you,” 18 said. He could hear Bulla begin to protest, but 18 was quick to interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what you want, so stop whining. It’ll be good for you to learn from more than one person at a time.”

For once, Goten wished he’d passed on training. He took in a deep breath before he followed Krillin and 18 back up to meet Bulla. The look on her face was one of frustrated fury, not that he could blame her, but he shifted his attention to 18. With any luck, he could spare Bulla too much irritation and focus on fighting 18 the whole time instead. He nearly regretted that choice almost immediately. It’d been long enough since he’d last trained with someone who wasn’t learning from him that he was thrown off by the sheer force of 18’s hits right away. It took him a moment to fall into a rhythm, but he found it quick enough.

There was something undeniably relaxing about training like this, he had to admit. Once he was able to put Bulla out of his mind, for the time being, he could focus on just letting his body move on instinct, striking and dodging and meeting every one of 18’s hits with his own. It got his blood pumping in a way not many other things could, and he could let his problems could vanish while he relished in the feeling.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that 18 was fearsome enough to command _all_ of his attention. She moved with a fluidity that he could never dream of attaining himself. She never made a move that she wouldn’t finish, even if all it would do is push him back. At one point, he decided to test the waters of her strength and ascended to Super Saiyan, an action that not only seemed to amuse her but also made her fight even _harder._

She caught his arm mid-punch and twisted it upward over his head, then effortlessly caught his other fist as it came in to punch her. “Super Saiyan? Careful, Goten,” she said. “You wouldn’t want me to take this seriously, would you?”

“Might be a little more fun if you did,” he replied, playfully. 18 used both of his arms to twist him around, forcing him to follow to avoid injury. But in doing so she gave him plenty of leverage to turn the tables on her and kicked her back with both of his feet. 

“ _I’ve_ had plenty of experience fighting Super Saiyans, you know,” she said dryly. “I can tell you’re not performing up to snuff.”

“Hey, give me a break. I’ve been busy,” Goten laughed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Just making sure you’re not getting lazy on us,” she said. “Krillin, Bulla. Let’s see how all three of us do against Goten.”

“Wait, three on one?” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at Bulla and Krillin.

“If you don’t think you can handle it...” 18 started, but Goten’s face broke out into a wide smile.

“Alright, but don’t think I’ll go easy on any of you.”

Of the three of them, 18 was clearly the strongest one. She took the majority of his attention, although he couldn’t relax with Krillin at his back either. But Bulla probably made him the most nervous — she wasn’t engaging nearly as often as the other two. In fact, it wasn’t until he’d been forced back to the ground, thrown Krillin off to the side and kicked 18 back that he realized Bulla had been waiting for an opening. And he’d just given it to her.

She went for the back of his knee, knocking him down to the ground before aiming for the middle of his chest. He jerked back in time to catch her foot and use it to swing her around to the ground behind him. Bulla cried out on impact, but he didn’t fall for that trick this time — he turned and was ready to block her other foot from catching the side of his head. She abruptly sat up to grab the front of his shirt and use it to pull him forward, practically tossing him over herself. But he reached down to grab _her_ shirt and pulled her along with him, effectively causing them both to somersault over one another.

Their limbs seemed to get tangled up with each other; arms went over arms, legs fought to pin each other down, and neither was willing to give up control. Needless to say, the sparring devolved into wrestling after that, and he had half a mind to drop the Super Saiyan form altogether. As if she could read his mind, Bulla brought her elbow against his cheek. “Don’t you _dare!_ ” she barked. “And stop pulling your punches!”

“Fine!” Goten said. Truth be told, he _had_ been pulling his punches. He couldn’t help it, because being a Super Saiyan meant everything he did was much stronger than before. But, well, she asked for it. He changed his strategy almost instantaneously,— he still didn’t want to hurt her, but if she really wanted him to stop holding back, then that’s what she’d get. Goten feigned a right hook which she moved to block, as expected. As soon as his knuckles touched her arm, he opened his hand to grab her and yank her closer to smack her own fist hard into her cheek. He caught her other arm and for a moment the two were locked there, arms pinned against their chests and twisted up with each other. 

“Alright you two,” Krillin said. “I think it’s time we—”

Goten’s yelp interrupted him before he could finish. He’d looked away for maybe half a second when he felt a sharp pain on his arm. When he looked back, Bulla had bitten him. He released her without a second thought.

“Ow! You _bit_ me?!” he said, a little more than taken aback. He dropped the Super Saiyan form and she let out an irritated scoff.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said. She rubbed at her cheek where he’d made her hit herself. “You’re not really done, are you?” 

“You bit me!” he said again. “That’s...that’s...you’re not supposed to bite people!”

Bulla rolled her eyes and folded her arms under her chest. Goten continued to stare at her before he looked to Krillin, hoping for some support. Instead, the man burst out laughing and Goten could feel his cheeks go warm.

“That’s one way to win a fight!” Krillin said. Goten sputtered at that, words catching in his mouth as he tried to say twenty at once.

“Hang on, she didn’t win,” he insisted. “You can’t win by cheating.”

“I didn’t cheat,” she argued with a lazy shrug. “You let your guard down and I did what I had to.”

“You didn’t _have_ to bite me,” he said, frustrated. He held up his arm and pointed at the teeth marks. “Look! It really hurts, too. _Jeez_ , Bulla...”

Her eyes dropped down to the mark and for the briefest second, he could have sworn she almost smiled before she looked away. At first, he was a little annoyed that she thought it was funny to pull something dirty like that, but the more he thought about it, he could only imagine what he looked like from her perspective. And from Krillin’s as well apparently, given how much he was laughing. Heck, even 18 was smiling a little. But he supposed he _was_ bigger than her, and a Super Saiyan at the time, and all it took was a bite to throw him completely off. The thought only made his cheeks heat up even more, this time out of embarrassment. Kami, Vegeta would have mocked him into an early grave.

“We’ll call it a draw, how about that?” Krillin said, finally managing to stop laughing long enough to speak. “You two can duke it out another time and figure out who the real winner is.”

“It’d still be me,” Bulla said. She glanced at Goten as she walked by, but the look didn’t linger long. She followed 18 and Krillin back toward the city while Goten lagged behind a bit. Try as he might, Goten couldn’t pull his eyes away from Bulla. Realistically, he knew that a single sparring match wasn’t going to change anything about how she felt. He knew that the minute she got back to the city she’d probably go straight to Marron and he’d have to get back to work anyway. But for a little while there, he’d hoped that maybe they could at least be friends. 

Of course, he wasn’t wrong. They got back to the city and she broke off with Marron, the two walking arm-in-arm back toward the houses. His mom came into view shortly after and he was right back to it. The next few days were much the same; he worked, trained people with Krillin or 18, and barely saw Bulla at all. He met with Elo and Mai on a pretty regular basis, mostly discussing defense plans. As time passed, the more confident he was in their chances. If Almone’s forces headed their way, he was pretty sure they could take them. The Saiyans were probably another matter entirely, but he figured Vegeta would succeed in whatever it was he was doing with them. He hoped, anyway.

“Did you know there’s a hot spring north of the city?” Mai was saying as they carried bags of cement up the ramparts.

“Really? I’ve never been there,” he said.

“It’s just past the old metro station. I don’t think anyone here realizes it’s there. Sure seems deserted every time I go.”

“When do you find time to do that?” he asked, glancing back at her. She always seemed busy, like she had a thousand things on her plate at once. Mai gave him a cryptic smile.

“Oh, I find the time, just like you do,” she said. They set the bags down on the top and took a moment to look down at the streets below. People were filtering in and out of the little shacks and buildings, and he caught sight of Bulla without even really trying. Her blue hair stood out in the crowd of almost every other color, and for once it didn’t look like she was with Marron. “Maybe you two should find some time to head up there yourselves.”

Goten knew she’d probably heard the rumors about them. It didn’t keep him from blushing or shifting uncomfortably, especially now that he knew he’d have to explain where they stood. “Uh, well...it’s not like that.”

“Really?” Mai said, following his gaze to look down at Bulla. He frowned and turned away to lean against the side. “That’s not what Marron said.”

“Well, it’s...wait, what? Marron?” he said, unable to hide his surprise. “What did Marron say, exactly?”

“She said you told Bulla how you felt and it scared her off. You can’t be so forward with such strong feelings, you know,” Mai said. She laughed gently to herself and leaned down, propping her elbow up to rest her chin in the palm of her hand.

“What’s so funny?” he said, mildly offended. It was one thing for Marron to tell Mai something so private, but another thing entirely for Mai to _laugh_ about it to his face.

“It’s just like a soap opera,” she said dreamily. When all he could do was look confused, she laughed again and shook her head. “Oh, you wouldn’t understand. It always works out in the end in a soap opera, so trust me when I say you’ll be fine.”

“O...kay...but what the heck’s a soap opera?” he muttered, still confused.

“Don’t worry about it! Worry about the dirt on your shirt,” she said.

“Huh? Why?” he asked, but the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention and he glanced over to see Bulla coming toward them. She looked vaguely uncertain about something, but the closer she got the more the expression turned neutral. Goten pushed away from the side and ran a hand down the front of his shirt quickly. Bulla stopped a few feet in front of him and glanced back at Mai.

“Uh...hi,” he said. “Did you—”

“I’ll leave you two alone!” Mai said. “See you later, Goten.” She winked at him and squeezed past them. Bulla stepped aside to let her pass and then looked at Goten directly. Her arms folded under her chest and the two stood in silence until Mai had gone. Goten went to lean against the siding, but it was too low and he was standing too upright and the effect was a little more awkward than he’d have liked. He readjusted quickly, though his second attempt wasn’t much better, so he gave up and held his hands in front of him, one gripping his wrist as he mentally kicked himself. 

“So...did you need something?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I want a rematch,” she said. He raised his eyebrows at her, suspecting there was more to it but she didn’t elaborate.

“Really? Right...right now?” he said. 

“Obviously. Unless you’re too busy carrying...what is this? Dirt?” Bulla glanced down at the bag and patted it with her hand.

“It’s cement for the wall. Are you sure you want a rematch _now_? It’s getting pretty late,” he said, glancing out toward the horizon. It was still early in the evening, but the sun would be setting fairly soon. 

“Are you afraid of the dark or something?” she said.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just—”

“If you want to forfeit and say I win, that’s fine.”

“ _No_ , that’s not—”

“So what is it?”

He sighed. “You sure know how to make things pretty difficult sometimes.”

The look on her face told him he shouldn’t have said that. Her lips thinned into a straight line and her cheeks turned slightly pink. “ _Fine_.” She turned to head back down and he quickly rushed forward to get in front of her. 

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry!” he said. She glared up at him and he held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“If you don’t want to train with me, I get it,” she said.

“I _do_ want to train with you. Trust me, I really missed training with you,” he said. “We can have a rematch. Just...don’t bite me again, okay?”

There was a glint in her eye and her mouth twitched slightly, but she didn’t allow herself to smile. Instead, she straightened her back and nodded. “I promise I won’t bite you again.” His smile was big enough for the both of them.

The entire way to the field was quiet. He tried not to fill the silence, worried that he might say something wrong that would set her off. It felt like it’d been a lot longer than it had since they last spent any time together, and Goten was determined not to screw it up again. Once they reached the field and landed on the grass, he turned to face her.

“So what do—”

She’d already charged him, her knee coming in to meet his gut. He grabbed it quickly and pushed her right back, although she spun around to swing a kick at him, striking his upper arm. It hurt a little, but he smirked despite that. She’d clearly been paying attention to 18’s lessons; she was a lot faster than she was a few weeks ago, and her movements were far more decisive. He had to work harder to block or dodge her strikes, and he felt emboldened to actually hit her back. 

“Hey, you’re pretty good!” he said, jumping back away from the boot coming for his face. “18 must be a really great teacher!”

“Are you implying that I’m a bad student?” she said, pausing. 

“Huh?” he said, coming to a stop himself. “No, of course not! I just meant that— _OH!_ ” He’d realized his mistake too late. Bulla launched herself at him again, although this time her legs went around his neck and she used her body to swing him down to the ground. He threw her off before her thighs wrapped any tighter around his head, but she came down quick to strike him in the middle of his chest. Even though her punches weren’t as strong as her kicks, it still knocked the wind out of him momentarily.

Goten rolled out of the way just as she went to hit him again and hopped back up to his feet. She got back up as well and the pair stared at one another before he moved first. He rushed toward her and just as he got close, she dropped down and swept his legs out from under him. Goten fell flat on his chest, but rolled again and gained enough leverage on the ground to leap at her, tackling her down. They both landed in a patch of mud, which made pinning her arms and legs down a messy and slippery affair, though he still managed.

“One!” he shouted. She struggled against him angrily, twisting and writhing under him. “Two!” She yelled something about _not fair_ and he laughed at her. “Three! Goten wins!” Bulla glowered up at him and he laughed again before releasing her. “Oh, come on, that was fun!”

“I’m _covered_ in mud,” she complained, sitting up and shaking her arms off. “Ugh, that’s filthy.”

“It’s a good thing showers exist, huh?” he teased. She scowled and flung a wad of mud at him. “Okay, I deserved that.”

“Yes. Yes, you did,” she said. Bulla stood and looked down at herself and grumbled as she tried in vain to brush the dirt and mud off of her. He watched her a moment before he made up his mind.

“You know, there’s a hot spring around here somewhere. Mai told me about it,” he said. The quiet that fell between them lasted a beat too long and he prepared to mentally kick himself for even speaking up at all. Clearly, that was crossing a line, and even if he hadn’t intended to, the implication he gave probably annoyed her. _Son Goten, you_ _melon-head._ “Or we can just head back to the city. I bet a shower would be better.” He paused. “Separate showers, obviously. I don’t mean one together, or...or anything.” _Stop. Talking._

“Where’s the hot spring?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Uh...actually, I think it’s over there...” he looked around to get his bearings and then nodded toward the metro sign. Both seemed to agree that flying was the best course of action given how muddy they were, so it didn’t take long to find the hot spring. It was a lot larger than he’d expected, and definitely older too. And it seemed Mai was right in that it looked deserted. Very few people, if anyone really, had been here in the last few years. The pools were large and steaming, and Goten was relieved to see there were separate spaces. At least this way, it wouldn’t be awkward for either of them.

As soon as they landed, however, Bulla began peeling off her clothes and Goten wasn’t quite sure how to react. He’d already seen her naked plenty of times before, but after what happened, he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He chose to turn away out of respect and began heading for the opposite side.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Oh, uh...just over there. I won’t be far so when you’re done, just let me know.”

“Why?” When he didn’t answer right away, she let out a sigh. “You’ve already seen everything, Goten, you don’t have to pretend. It’s only a body anyway.”

 _It’s not just any body, though,_ he wanted to say. _It’s yours._ He hesitated for a moment before he turned back around. She was already naked, though he made a conscious effort not to look at her breasts for too long. His fingers itched to touch them again, but he focused on getting himself undressed. He paused long enough to watch her step into the spring slowly and followed after her once he was done. The water was a lot hotter than he expected, though not uncomfortably so. And once it was up to his chest, he felt his muscles practically begin to melt right away.

Bulla seemed to be having a difficult time with something judging by the way she was moving around. Goten looked over at her and watched the way she shifted on the rocks. “Have you ever been in a hot spring before?”

“No,” she admitted. “How are you supposed to get comfortable?”

“Here,” he said, sliding over the rock he’d claimed. “This one’s a little smoother than the others. You get used to finding the good ones pretty quick.”

But maybe that had been a mistake. Once she was close to him, he found it difficult to look away from her. The water was clear enough that he could see pretty much everything, and he could only hope she wouldn’t notice his struggle. Leaning back against the rock behind them, Goten closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. For a long while, they sat in silence, although the sound of water moving grabbed his attention away from his thoughts. Bulla had brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, although he wasn’t sure he was entirely convinced of that. He searched her face, looking for a clue as to what was going on in her mind. Part of him wanted to talk about what he’d said, to let her know that he understood that she didn’t feel the same way. He wanted to assure her that he still cared about her, but that he’d respect whatever she wanted. And if she didn’t want him, that he would be okay with that.

Only, none of those words came close to his mouth. They didn’t feel right, because if he was honest, then he wasn’t sure he would be okay with any of it. He’d meant what he said, after all. It was hard to just pretend those feelings weren’t there, no matter what the circumstances were. He’d thought he’d made some progress being away from her for so long, but now that she was _right there_ he realized nothing had changed at all. 

“Hey, Bulla...” he started, ignoring the part of his mind yelling at him to stop. “I just wanted to tell you that I—”

“Don’t.” Bulla still wasn’t looking at him, but the tone in her voice was clear. She put her legs back down and leaned forward, and he closed his eyes again. _You should have just stayed quiet,_ he scolded himself. But then something touched his leg and when he opened his eyes, she was in facing him. She leaned closer and pressed her lips against his, kissing him for a moment before she pulled back again. “Don’t talk.”

“O-okay,” he said, talking anyway. She rolled her eyes and kissed him again, more insistently than before. Bulla moved closer, deepening the kiss as she moved onto his lap, and his hands went to her hips automatically. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on — he had question after question hurtling through his brain at top speed — but he couldn’t bring himself to stop either of them and the more they carried on the more the questions began to die off.

She broke the kiss long enough to settle fully onto his lap. “I want you,” she whispered against his mouth. He shuddered at that.

“Bulla, I...we should really talk about—”

“Shh, I don’t want to talk,” she said. Her mouth found his again, stopping his protests before they could fully form. “I just want you.”

There weren’t a lot of things about their relationship that Goten would call romantic. Heck, he wasn’t sure he could really call it a _relationship_ at all, especially considering just how confused he was right now. But the sun was setting off in the distance, leaving a warm orange glow in the sky, and he was always amazed by just how beautiful she was when they were this close. His hands trailed over her skin, fingers brushing over bruised flesh from their sparring and making her shiver. One of his hands cupped her breast and massaged her gently, squeezing and teasing her nipple just slightly so that she breathed his name.

Bulla guided him into her, slowly lowering herself onto his length and hissing against the pain. He groaned but forced himself to remain still while he waited. After only a few brief seconds she rolled her hips against him and he responded in kind, bringing his hands down to grip her sides. Her arms went around his neck and she pulled him forward into a kiss that felt far more desperate than any before them. It made him want to hold her tighter, to assure her that whatever she was afraid of, she didn’t have to be because he was there.

The pace she set was steady, a far cry from their previously urgent lovemaking sessions. Honestly, he enjoyed it more than he could say. It gave him time to appreciate her, to touch more of her skin with his hands and cover more of her body with kisses. His mouth went everywhere — her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. Okay, maybe not everywhere. He could only go so far without folding himself in half, but the desire was there.

Goten brought his hand between them so he could finger her, using his thumb to rub at her as she continued to bob up and down on him. The touch caused her to let out a loud moan and her legs twitched around him with every stroke. He could feel his cock twitching inside her but he wanted to draw this out as long as he could. Goten wanted her to _know_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he loved her, even if she didn’t want to hear him say it. 

But every time she breathed his name, he got closer and closer to the edge. He fought back the urge to give up and let go, all the way until her legs began to spasm and she let out a cry. Her arms tightened around him again and their mouths crashed together, and _that_ was when he allowed himself to surrender to it all. He bucked his hips against hers, thrusting as hard as he could with what little leverage he had, and shuddered as he released inside her. They held each other for a long moment, both taking the time to breathe as they recovered their strength.

“G-Goten,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I can’t...I can’t do what you said. I can’t do that.” Maybe it was because he was coming down from his high, but his stomach felt especially knotted when she spoke. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes, allowing his forehead to drop to her shoulder. “But I...I want you.”

Later, he might have thought that he should have ended it there. He should have known that it would just hurt later when she was done with him, that whatever she wanted him for would eventually end. But he didn’t care right then. All he cared about was her, was the feeling he got when he held her and when she held him back. And that he _missed her_ too much to say otherwise. If this was how he got to feel that all the time then what did it matter? She wanted him, and that was better than not wanting him. 

Goten kissed her again and she took that for his answer. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they’d be back at it, that they’d continue to bury themselves into one another until there was nothing left but two exhausted bodies ready to fall apart. For the moment, however, he could just relish in the feeling of her mouth on his and fool himself into thinking she really did feel something more for him. At the end of the day, he still loved her — and he knew he was an idiot for it.


	45. Vita Patris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Major character death incoming.

Central City never stood a chance. The city took less than two hours to fall, and early on in their conquest, Vegeta realized that Almone wasn’t even _there_ in the first place. At first, Vegeta assumed she must have fled when she realized they were coming. It was the only rational thing to do when faced with the might of the Saiyan race, after all. Cowardly and spineless, yes, but understandable given how weak humans were.

But as the battle drew on, Vegeta took note of a few things that stood out to him. Namely, that his father — _the king_ — didn’t seem surprised by Almone’s absence or the absence of her troops. There were soldiers here, but it was just as Trunks said. They were mostly comprised of recruits fresh off the streets, with only a small amount of Elite and Armored Forces there to keep the peace. And while the Saiyans gave little to no thought of destroying buildings and homes, they were careful to avoid one in particular — the capitol building. Something wasn’t right, and he was going to find out.

There was enough to worry about without finding time to question the king on the battlefield. _Not that this was a real battle,_ he thought bitterly. _More like a slaughter_. It hadn’t escaped him how recklessly the army had rolled through the city, barely paying any mind to his orders to keep their blasts focused on soldiers and soldiers alone. What little respect they had for him only went so far as his status and their fear of the king’s wrath. They listened to his orders, but most were brazen enough to toe the line of obedience. He knew he’d have to do something, and soon, or else his family would suffer the consequences of his inaction. His wife would just have to understand that this was the way Saiyans were, and no amount of words would change that.

Once the fighting had ended, the king ordered the rest of the fleet to Central City, including the main ship. It made sense to claim it for their people; not only was it large enough to accommodate them, but it would also be a major victory for them. Almone could not dream of reclaiming the city while they were there.

Vegeta hovered above the capitol building, his eyes sweeping down over the smoldering remains of several buildings. He wondered how many bystanders were killed in the fighting, either by accident or sheer spite. 

“Prince Vegeta,” a voice called to him, and he turned to see Kakarot’s father approaching him. The relation was obvious, though no less jarring in some ways. The resemblance between them was irritatingly uncanny. But at the very least, Bardock proved wildly different in personality from his son.

“Where’s Trunks?” he asked.

“Returned to the ship,” he said dutifully. “I need to report to the king, but...it’s something you should know too.”

“Very well,” Vegeta said. He followed Bardock down to the building below, where the king’s men waited outside the doors. As they entered, Vegeta realized that it looked far more like one of his father-in-law’s buildings than any military one he’d ever seen. Something about that didn’t feel right to him, but he wasn’t one for such things. He’d have to bring Bulma here to see it for herself and make sense of it for him.

The king was busy speaking in hushed tones to a skinny man with thinning hair when Vegeta and Bardock approached. Two guards stepped out of his way automatically but attempted to halt the other man as he tried to pass. “He’s with me,” Vegeta said. They stepped aside and the king glanced at them, though he continued to speak.

“...ensure the transition is seamless. I don’t want any mistakes, understood?” The king was saying. The small man bowed deeply before he excused himself, offering Vegeta a half-bow as well. His father turned toward them, the crimson cloak that draped over his shoulder swaying slightly as he did. Vegeta couldn’t be sure if he actually saw the king fight, but the specks of blood were hard to miss on the rest of his battle armor.

“I see that you made do with the low-class warriors after all,” he commented dryly. “I understand your son was a useful asset even without the mask.”

“He never needed it in the first place,” Vegeta said. 

“As you say,” the king said and glanced at Bardock. “I assume there’s a reason you’re here.” It was only then that Vegeta realized the other Saiyan was a couple of feet behind him, knelt down on one knee with his head bowed. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Bardock stood when he was addressed, though he kept his gaze low. It almost annoyed Vegeta to see just how _obedient_ he was. “The Prince’s son and I discovered something here in this building. It was a device of some kind, capable of opening a rift.”

“Impossible. Only Frieza was capable of wielding such power,” the king said dismissively. “What you saw was likely nothing more than a cheap trick.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, but I know what I saw. The rift brought through a creature that attacked us, just as the others have.”

Vegeta eyed the two Saiyans as he listened. Clearly, Bardock and the king were familiar with these things already, although his own experience was limited. He wondered just how long the king had been aware of them, and whether or not he intended to pass along that information. “You’ve seen them before?”

Bardock glanced at him from the corner of his eye and gave a stiff nod. “Frieza has made use of them before.”

“Show me where this device is. I would see it for myself,” the king said. Bardock led them further into the building until they reached a laboratory of some sort. It was almost as large as the one at Capsule Corp. There was what used to be a partition between the two rooms, but it appeared to have been smashed. Inside the room was a console, and directly above it a window that he could see the sky clearly through. A few feet away from that was another hole, although that one appeared to have been made by a body.

The king stepped into closer to the control panel and eyed it a moment before he turned to look at the room. If Vegeta didn’t know any better, everything seemed innocuous at best — but years of being married to Bulma had told him that likely wasn’t the case at all. Most of _her_ devices looked harmless, after all.

“What sort of creature did this ‘rift’ bring through?” the king asked. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it before. It was round and pink, and had the most annoying voice I’ve ever heard,” Bardock said. “But it was strong, that’s for sure.”

 _Round. Pink. Annoying._ Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. “Buu.” Both Bardock and the king looked at him curiously and he scoffed. “You’re telling me that you fought Buu?”

“You mean what it was yelling about was its name? Figures it’d be something stupid,” Bardock asked. “So you’ve seen it before.”

“I’ve defeated it before too,” he said casually. “But if it really was Buu you faced, then I have a hard time believing you defeated it on your own — if at all.”

Bardock’s face twisted into a dangerous scowl at the insult. “As a matter of fact, I did. But I wasn’t alone. Your son, and...” he trailed off, and his frown only deepened.

“Let me guess. A girl appeared and the rift vanished,” Vegeta said. Bardock’s expression melted into one of surprise as he regarded Vegeta and nodded slowly. “Did she also wear goggles?”

“You know her,” Bardock said.

Vegeta didn’t answer. Instead, he turned toward the king. “My wife can make use of this equipment. Keep your men’s filthy hands off the place until she arrives. I want her to have a look at everything before someone comes in and makes a mess.” At the king’s nod, he made to leave with every intention of heading back outside to wait for the main ship’s arrival.

He’d just exited the building when Bardock called out to him. “Prince Vegeta — wait.”

“What is it now?” he said impatiently. 

“You knew that girl. Who is she?” 

“I didn’t say I knew her,” Vegeta answered. “She came and went the same way.”

The way that Bardock looked at him was eerily similar to the way Kakarot did when he was preparing to fight him. Vegeta made no indication of the guard he was putting up, other than to cross his arms as he stared the other Saiyan down. 

“She didn’t leave,” Bardock said. “Come on.”

“Whatever game you’re playing at...” Vegeta warned, but followed after Bardock anyway. The other man led him to a ship and were greeted by Trunks once they stepped inside.

“Dad,” Trunks said, standing up from his seat. Vegeta took note of the several scrapes on his cheeks and the way his uniform was torn in some places. He also took note of the teal-haired earthling sitting next to where Trunks had been. _Why the hell would she be here?_ He thought, but other things demanded his attention. That girl was lying in the bunk with her eyes shut tight, her face severely battered, while the end of her tail hung loosely over the edge of the bed.

“Trunks. Tell me what happened,” he said. Trunks glanced back at the girl and then to Vegeta. His story was much the same as Bardock’s, with the addition of the scientist and the realization that his son couldn’t even remember that he’d faced Buu before. _Another time,_ he reminded himself firmly. _Maybe seeing Goten again would jog his memory._

“This is the same girl who closed that thing I came across a few days ago,” Vegeta said, nodding toward her. “I’m sure of it.”

“But you’ve never seen her before?” Bardock asked. He almost seemed frustrated.

“No. It’s like I said: she appeared for me just as she did you, but she disappeared with the rift,” Vegeta said. “She said her name was Charlotte.” If Bardock had any thoughts about that, he wasn’t sharing. His face might as well have been made of stone from the hardened gaze he had locked on the girl.

“There’s something else too,” Trunks said. Vegeta stepped closer at his son’s beckoning. “Look at her arm. You see that?”

Capsule Corp had a distinct flair about it, one that was near impossible to miss. The logo was unmistakable, but Vegeta hardly believed it at first. Why would this girl — this random Saiyan — have an artificial arm that just happened to bear his wife’s company name? Then again, it looked more like a tattoo than an actual brand of any kind. Like someone had drawn it on, not stamped it.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he growled under his breath.

“Mom’s gotta know,” Trunks said. “That’s her handwriting.”

Vegeta’s patience was already at its end before that, but now that Trunks had said something...it only added to his confusion. And he was thoroughly, completely, utterly _goddamn sick_ of being confused. “I’ve had enough of this. I have more to worry about than some kid,” he snapped.

“But dad — what do we do with her?” 

“Bring her to your mother. She’ll figure it out.”

He turned to leave, and while he was fully prepared to shove that problem off on someone else, the way Bardock hadn’t stopped staring intently at her caught his attention. But the other Saiyan broke his gaze to look at Vegeta for a moment, then turned and left without a word. It wasn’t worth Vegeta’s time to chase after him, so he chose instead to wait for the rest of the fleet to arrive. At the very least, he could find time to speak to Bulma.

It wasn’t long before the main ship arrived. Inside, everyone was rushing around noisily as they prepared to disembark. The city and whatever earthlings below had no idea what was coming for them, and he thought vaguely that he should have laid some ground rules about dealing with them before he left. But it was too late now.

Bulma was already at the door when he opened it, a furious scowl on her face. Her features softened when she saw him, her blue eyes trailing over the signs of battle he wore. Immediately he noticed that her hair was short again, the ends of it just brushing her earlobes. She must have cut it while he was gone.

“Vegeta! Central City...” she said, trailing off.

“We took it,” he said, knowing that wasn’t what she meant him to say. Trunks wasn’t far behind, carrying Charlotte with him in his arms. The teal-haired one followed too, practically glued at his son’s hip. He’d have to remember to question her presence among them, and why she wore the Saiyan armor now. 

Vegeta led them to the medical bay, promptly ejecting the two medics the moment they stepped inside. Trunks laid Charlotte down on one of the beds and gave her another medipill, then stepped aside so Bulma could move closer. For his part, Vegeta remained by the door, leaning against the frame and watching closely.

“This is _seriously_ weird,” Bulma commented. She was examining the girl’s metal arm closely, turning it over before she set it back down. “That’s definitely my handwriting, and this _looks_ like something I’d design. Actually, it sort of looks similar to the same material Dr. Gero used for the androids. But it’s just her arm — see the way it’s set here?” She motioned to the girl’s shoulder where the metal met her skin, “It’s a prosthetic.”

“But you have no idea who she is?” Trunks said.

“Well, she sort of looks familiar, but I can’t really put my finger on it,” she said, thoughtfully. “We should get her into the tank, just in case she’s hurt worse than we can see.”

It didn’t take much for Trunks to move her and as he did, Bulma glanced back at Vegeta. He knew that look. She wanted to tell him something, but with Trunks and his...what? Girlfriend? Whoever she was, with both of them there, Bulma wasn’t speaking her mind. 

“There’s no point standing around here,” Vegeta said. “Until she wakes up, we’ll just be playing guessing games.”

“Right,” said Trunks. “I should...report back, anyway.” He stepped away from the tank to rejoin the teal-haired one, and the two of them exchanging a look. She held his gaze for a moment before glancing around at the others and letting out an incredulous laugh.

“Look, nothing has made sense since I got here,” she said abruptly, sounding nearly as irritated as Vegeta was. “I’m out.” She made for the door and Trunks hesitated before going after her.

“Pasley, wait!” he said, but she didn’t stop. Vegeta watched as the pair headed down the hallway. The questions about her presence were still there, and he had half a mind to go after them as well. But Bulma stepped closer to him and grabbed his attention.

“Vegeta, there’s a woman here who looks like that girl,” she said in a hushed tone.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve seen her.”

“I think...maybe, she might be related to Goku.”

“Kakarot? Why would — oh, what is it _now_?”

The rumbling interrupted him. He was tired of things interrupting him, but _this thing_ was especially annoying. Vegeta looked around the room irritably, glaring as though the look alone would stop whatever was happening. Bulma crossed the room to look out the window, then let out a sharp gasp. He was at her side in an instant. A rift, massive and purple, swirled furiously below them just above the capitol building. It seemed to be growing in size by the second and getting closer and closer to them. Vegeta immediately grabbed Bulma and was about to blast a hole in the wall when she stopped him, her hands tugging on his arm.

“Vegeta, wait! The girl!” she said, pointing. _Damn her_ , he thought, but he still smashed the front of the tank and pried her out. Bulma rushed over to the table to grab the device Charlotte had been wearing, and once she was back at his side, he gave the room a newer, bigger window. By the time they were out, with the girl tucked safely under one arm and Bulma at his other side, the rift began to expand its way over the ship’s underbelly.

“Damn it, what the hell is going on?!” he shouted. Dozens of Saiyans were pouring out of the ship, and Vegeta noticed Bardock not far away. The other Saiyan caught his gaze and flew toward him.

“It’s coming from the capitol building. Someone must have turned on the machine!” he said.

“What kind of _moron_...come on!” Vegeta said. He flew down to the building and hurried after Bardock, still carrying Bulma and the girl. They’d likely need his wife’s mind to figure out how to turn off whatever damnable piece of technology that awaited them, if they even could, and if the girl woke up anytime soon she could use that device of hers to contain it.

“Mom! Dad!” Trunks said as he and Pasley joined them. “It’s got to be that machine!”

“We know!” Vegeta said. Bardock led the way through the halls until they reached the lab. The king was nowhere to be seen, and the room was flooded by that purple mass, barely contained within the walls and seeping out of the two holes in the ceiling. The gravitational pull coming from it was incredible; Vegeta’s muscles strained to keep hold of his wife and the girl. With the window partition gone, some of the rift’s tendrils were leaking into the room, just barely out of reach of the control panel. 

“What is that thing?!” Pasley yelled. She struggled the most against it, holding onto the doorway.

“A dimensional rift! Don’t get too close!” Bulma called out, even as she held onto Vegeta tighter and pointed at the panel. “I need to get over there, Vegeta!”

“Are you sure about this?” he said, eyeing the black mass.

“You got a better idea?” she said. He did not. Vegeta glanced toward Bardock and the two exchanged a nod before the prince tossed Charlotte to him. His entire body seemed to scream in protest as he brought her closer, his arms wrapped protectively around her. Bardock and Trunks stood in the doorway, and Vegeta already made a mental note to use whatever energy he could gather to get Bulma out in case the rift tried to swallow them both up.

Once they reached the panel, Bulma’s hands and arms shook as she fought against the force of the rift’s pull. Vegeta held her around her middle, his feet planted in a wide stance to give him better leverage. Even _he_ was having a hard time standing in the rift’s wake, and yet his wife was still determined. 

“I-I think I know how to turn it off!” she called out. Vegeta wasn’t even watching what she was doing, his focus solely remaining on the rift threatening to squeeze through the partition. It was far too close for comfort.

“Then do it, damn it!” he snapped. He’d pay for that later, he knew, but now wasn’t the time. He felt like the very fiber of his being was getting pulled apart.

But whatever she did, it had the opposite effect. Vegeta’s body quaked at the sudden power increase, his arms locking themselves around her to keep her in place even as he struggled to remain where he was. He yelled out, the temptation to ascend into Super Saiyan was there but he didn’t take it — he remembered what happened the last time he’d tried that.

“V-Vegeta!” Bulma cried out. She couldn’t move anymore, and whatever she did clearly didn’t work. “I can — I can fix it!”

“Forget it, it’s too late!” Bardock called out to them. Vegeta didn’t even hesitate to grab Bulma again, even as she tried to fight back. He had to get her away from this thing.

Every muscle in his body was on fire as he carried her back out. They’d just managed to get clear of the room when the rift poured through the partition and flooded toward them, seeping through the walls. The further they got away from the center, the faster they were able to move. Yet despite that, the rift continued to grow quickly, its black tendrils spread so fast that it remained at their heels the entire time. Vegeta’s eyes shot towards the girl over Bardock’s shoulder and he glared angrily. If she really was related to Kakarot, at least she kept to his theme of being _useless_ when it mattered the most.

The sound of a scream forced him to look back. That teal-haired earthling had fallen behind. The rift was far too close, it was far too dangerous to save her. Bulma gasped and Vegeta grit his teeth, but he wasn’t about to risk his family’s life for some—

“Pasley!” Trunks yelled. Vegeta’s hand snapped out and grabbed his ankle just in time to stop him.

“Trunks, _don’t!_ ” he said. But Trunks wheeled around to kick him in the face, forcing Vegeta to let go. “Trunks!”

Trunks grabbed her and spun around, a golden light surrounding him just long enough for him to fling her forward. Vegeta caught her but watched as the gold vanished and his son struggled against the rift’s pull. 

“Come on!” Vegeta yelled. “ _Come on!_ ”

It was far too late. Trunks had depleted too much of his strength too fast. And all Vegeta could do was watch in mixed horror and anger as the darkness began to envelop his son.

“No! No, no, no!” another voice had joined the fray, and Vegeta barely registered Charlotte scrambling away from Bardock. She rushed over to frantically grab the device from Bulma’s grasp. “Let go! _Let go!_ ” But by the time she’d pushed the button and the rift began to recede, Trunks was nowhere in sight. Charlotte stood there for a moment, staring at the place he’d been. “No...no, I...was too late.”

Everyone fell silent. Vegeta wasn’t sure what had just happened. Bulma let go of him and walked forward slowly, searching the same spot as if she might find him from thin air.

“Where...where’d he go? Vegeta...where did Trunks go?” Bulma said in a trembling voice. But he didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t have answers for anything. All he had were more questions — and fury. A fury he hadn’t felt in years.

He rounded on Charlotte, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and throwing her back against the wall. The device she had slipped from her hand and dropped to the ground. Before she could respond, he put a hand around her neck. Her hands came up to pull at his wrist, but the effort was wasted.

“Bring him back,” he said. “ _Now!_ ”

“I-I can’t! It doesn’t work like that!” she said. Her tear-filled eyes darted down to the device and he kicked it aside. “P-please, I have to go!”

“You’re not going anywhere until you fix this,” he said, poison dripping from his voice. From the corner of his eye, he noticed how Bardock moved closer to them, and Bulma bent to pick up the device.

“I told you, I can’t!” she said. 

“You’re from the future, aren’t you?” Bulma said, holding up the device. “This is something I’ll make, right? To manipulate those rifts?”

Charlotte struggled against Vegeta’s grip a little more, her tail flicking back and forth behind her as though it was also trying to gain purchase on something. “I...I can’t.”

“Trunks is in that between space just like Goku, isn’t he?” Bulma said. When Charlotte didn’t answer right away, Bulma stepped closer. “Isn’t he?!”

“Y-yes!” Charlotte said. “It — this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Vegeta’s hand tightened a little more and she gasped for air. His blood was boiling beneath his skin, every instinct in his body telling him to end it. This was her fault somehow. Her relation to Kakarot clearly gave her the same ineptitude and none of the qualities that actually mattered. And now his son was _gone._  

“Let her go,” Bulma said. “Vegeta, _stop._ We...we’ll need her if we wanna get Trunks back.”

He clenched his teeth together so hard it was almost painful. As much as he wanted to ignore her and listen to that voice in his head urging him on, he knew she was right. Damn it, he knew too well how right she was. Damn her. _Damn her._

Vegeta dropped her and she fell to the ground, clutching at her throat and gasping for air. He realized Bardock had moved even closer, standing as though he was prepared for a fight. Why he was so concerned, Vegeta didn’t care. The man had hardly said a word since they entered the building, but the prince had certainly noticed the way he seemed to be _analyzing_ everything. Especially that girl. 

“The...the Supreme Kai of Time,” Charlotte began weakly. “She wants to meet with you.” Vegeta scoffed and glowered down at her, but before he could answer, she coughed. “N-not you. Bardock.” 

Every pair of eyes fell on the man almost instantly, and he seemed just as surprised as they were. It did nothing to soften his own scowl, however. “What would a...whatever you said want with a low-class warrior?”

“Oh, I...I don’t know,” she said. Charlotte ducked her head down to cough and Vegeta shot a glance at Bardock. Suddenly, she jumped up to her feet and rushed Bulma, snatching the device from her hands and leaping up over her. Both Bardock and Vegeta made to go after her, but she’d already pressed a button and light began to surround her.

“Please forgive me! I’ll find a way to get him back to you, I promise!” she said. The two men came to a halt as they were blinded and she was gone by the time they regained their senses. 

“Heh...the kid tricked us,” Bardock said. But Vegeta was in no mood. He was seething with anger, sorrow, resentment — all of those things raged inside him and he wasn’t sure what to _do_ with any of it. He made note of this Supreme Kai of Time though, assuming she wasn’t lying about such a thing existing. And he swore that next time Charlotte showed her face, if she failed to make good on her promise, he would make her take him to this so-called Kai and she would answer for what happened to his son.

Vegeta turned back, unable to look at Bulma as he walked past. Pasley stepped in front of him. She shouldn’t have. “Sir, I...about Trunks—”

“It should have been you,” he told her. He had no time for this stranger’s sympathies, her meaningless apologies. Whoever she was to Trunks meant absolutely nothing to him. He shoved by her and continued on, all the while doing his best to ignore the sounds of chaos and confusion in the streets around him. His mind felt like a hurricane. The king was in the eye of the storm, barking orders and commands.

“Ah, my son. I feared you dead by that thing,” the king said as Vegeta approached. 

“Who activated the machine?” he demanded. When the king did not immediately answer, Vegeta let loose some of that rage into his ascension. The blue light radiated off him, stopping nearly everyone around in their tracks to stare. “ _Who?_ ”

“Whoever it was, we will find them,” the king said coolly. It was a lie. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Vegeta knew it was a _lie._ His hand shot out to grab the king by the cloak, yet the man remained irritatingly calm. “Think carefully about your next action, my son.”

 _I’m not your son,_ he thought bitterly. “I’m tired of your games. Did _you_ give the order to turn it on?”

“No,” the king said. “I did not.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Vegeta said. “ _Trunks_ is gone.” His mouth tightened in anger, fingers itching to tear into the man wearing his father’s face.

“I am not lying,” the king replied. “Why would I endanger my own people? My own son and grandson?” He didn’t believe him, but the king was too calm, too measured, too certain of his words. It was infuriating. “If you think me as guilty as you say, then carry on with the execution. Kill me so you might become king yourself, and see for yourself the choices you must make as a ruler.”

The king’s eyes flickered to something over Vegeta’s shoulder, and he glanced back to see Bulma standing some feet away. In another life, she might have been right beside him, yelling at the king herself. But the exhaustion and devastation in her face was enough to cool his rage. For now. Vegeta released him, shoving him back although the king managed to keep from stumbling. As he turned away to leave, still emanating the same power so that anyone who looked on would know the truth of his strength, the king spoke again.

“I know all too well what it is like to lose a son,” the king said. It was all Vegeta could do to not rip the man’s head off. He kept his gaze locked onto Bulma’s face. “But my men tell me Almone’s scouts have found your daughter and the other half-breed.”

 _Damn it, Gohan, you incompetent..._ If they really had found them, then that might they really were out of options now. He’d hoped they’d have more time to figure things out. “I will retrieve them myself,” he said.

“I suggest you take a few men with you. Almone will be eager to reclaim Frieza’s prize,” the king offered helpfully.

Vegeta didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time for any of it. Even as he stormed away he felt the exhaustion creeping in, settling somewhere in the back of his mind. His wife needed him, but so did his daughter and Kakarot’s boy. There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind urging him to listen to his instincts, to act without hesitation from now on. To stop letting everyone hold him back. Maybe if he had done just that this entire time, his son would still be with them.

For now, Vegeta was once again being pulled in more directions than he could count. But he had no choice. He couldn’t even remember the last time he did.


	46. Even If It Kills Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Mentions of infertility, implied body horror, implied rape.
> 
> Special thanks to GrammarGrrrl for all her help in not just editing but providing me much-needed encouragement at times when I feel lost in the weeds. Her contributions shine especially bright through this chapter, and I encourage you to check out her work!

It was unbearably hot. It had been for entirely too long, and Bulla had never been in such extreme heat before. Even the desert near Mushroom City wasn’t so bad, though she supposed that had been a bit earlier in the year. It seemed the summer had caught up with the island. The humidity alone was oppressive enough to make her more miserable than she could stand, and worse, it made her feel sick to her stomach.

“You’re going too slow,” 18 said impatiently. “Pick up the pace, Bulla.”

“I _am_ ,” Bulla hissed. She was out of breath already, the air was too thick to be doing this much work. 

After years of pampered living in West City’s mild climate, Marron and Bulla seemed to suffer the most in South City’s more tropical air. It’d been fine at first, but as the summer wore on, it got progressively worse. 18 had allowed her exactly one day to hide indoors and keep cool, but once that day was over she’d practically dragged her outside. The one small mercy she granted was keeping their feet on the ground and finding a shaded area for them to train. Little good that it did; she’d never sweat so much before in her life and Marron couldn’t bring them water fast enough to keep her cool.

She lashed out to punch 18 and missed again. This time, the woman grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, holding her in place. Bulla made to kick back at her, but 18 easily blocked the attempt. The way she was being held exacerbated the nausea she felt, and her own sweat made her skin feel slippery as she tried to wrench away.

“Is the heat really _that_ bad?” 18 said. Bulla opened her mouth to answer, but her stomach churned and her hand shot up to clamp over it. 18 released her and she stumbled forward, doing her best to hold back the bile but it was no use. She barely made it to the bush nearby. Bulla couldn’t even remember the last time she’d thrown up in her life.

18 put a hand on the middle of her back as she remained doubled over. “Guess so. You should’ve said something,” the woman said. Her voice was quiet and while Bulla wouldn’t call anything 18 did or said gentle, she didn’t sound as cold as usual. Bulla wiped her mouth off on the back of her hand and stood up straight, taking the water bottle 18 offered.

“I hate this weather,” she complained. “I can do it, I just need a break.”

“We’ll pick up where we left off later,” 18 agreed. “Go cool off.”

It was a long walk back to the houses. She sipped at the water the whole way, willing herself to keep the urge to throw up again at bay. The sweat on her forehead kept coming back as soon as she’d wipe it away. As she got closer, she could hear Chi-Chi’s voice somewhere nearby and she silently hoped they wouldn’t cross paths. The last thing she needed right now was to deal with her _._ As luck would have it, she’d managed to avoid her altogether and make it to her home peacefully. 

Marron was likely spending time with her father, and Bulla hadn’t seen much of Goten the last few days. His mother certainly kept him busy, although Bulla wasn’t sure if that was the result of her finding out about their resumed tryst or a general need to treat him like he was still a child that needed chores to stay out of trouble. Either way, being alone was probably better right now anyway. She hadn’t realized just how tired she was until she kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed. It felt like every muscle in her body melted into the mattress, and her eyes felt heavier than ever. Every blink felt like they lasted a year each.

When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in front of the large windows aboard Frieza’s ship. At first, it confused her, though she didn’t know why. She’d been here the whole time. Waiting. She looked out and saw the earth below, far below. _Mudball._ No sooner had the word come to her mind than Frieza appeared from nowhere. Gold and violet and red-eyed. “What a terrible waste,” he said in a cruelly mocking tone. “A terrible, terrible waste. Wouldn’t you agree, _little princess_?” She hated that title, hated that word, hated that tone. Hated _him._

He reached out to her and she turned to flee from him but came face to face with a sea of corpses. They were smoldering, lying in pools of congealed blood. The door was open on the other side of them, and Frieza’s cruel laugh urged her on. She hurried through the corpses, trying not to trip over them, but a hand caught her ankle. She stood frozen, staring with her mouth agape down at her brother’s bloodied face looking up at her. “T-traitor,” he croaked. _No!_ She jerked her ankle away and ran through the doorway.

The hall had never been longer, had never had so many doors, but it was the other end she ran for. She had to escape; Frieza’s laughter remained at her back and she didn’t dare look behind her. Finally, she made it to the end, faced with two doors. One white, one black. Her hands threw open the black doors without hesitation and she hurried through them, only to find herself in a room. In _her_ room. Yamcha stood by her window, his back to her. _Yamcha?_ she whispered. He did not move. She stepped closer, carefully and slowly, but then she stopped — Yamcha was dead. He had been for months. Dead and gone. As if on cue, he turned to reveal a rotting corpse. And she turned to flee again.

But Frieza was waiting for her. He was always waiting for her. His laughter was still there, still surrounding her. There was no room anymore, only the darkness. He pointed a finger at her. _“_ A terrible, terrible waste,” he said again. A sharp pain shot through her. She looked down and her stomach bled. Her hands tried to stop the bleeding, but it just kept coming, and coming and coming and—

Bulla’s eyes shot open, stinging from sweat and tears. Someone had cried out, and it took her a moment to realize that she was in her bed in South City. Her hands fell to her stomach, but she felt no wound and a wave of relief washed over her. The room was dark and one glance out the window told her it was nighttime. She kicked the thin sheet off of her and clambered out of bed, all of her limbs feeling as though they were filled with jelly rather than bones and muscle. “How long was I asleep?” she murmured to herself. 

Judging by the sound outside, she assumed it was still fairly early in the evening. A chill ran through her, the hair sticking up on the back of her neck as she thought about what she’d dreamed. She had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t shake the sense that there was someone else in the room with her. But if there was someone there, their ki was too weak for her to focus on. Another chill and she stumbled to the kitchen on weak legs, devouring what food she had sitting in the cupboard.

The sun was gone and the moon hung high overhead when she stepped outside, and most people seemed to have filtered back into their homes. She made her way through the streets with no real direction, just a need to stretch her legs and calm her nerves. People here were generally less cold than the ones from the Fire Mountain village, though she herself didn’t stop make any time for them. At the very least, she could appreciate that they didn’t seem to have as much unfettered hatred for her. 

As she walked, Bulla couldn’t shake that feeling that someone was near. That weak ki seemed to follow her, though no matter where she looked she couldn’t pick them out. The feeling unnerved her, and her stomach felt tight with anxiety the longer that feeling lingered. She had half a mind to find Marron and seek comfort in her arms, but she had no doubt that the woman was already asleep by now. The only other person she could think of, however...

Weeks had gone by so quickly that it was practically a blur. At first, she’d been determined to ignore Goten and what he’d said to her. She held out for as long as she could, turning to Marron and 18 for a distraction. But eventually, she gave into that same urge that overwhelmed her the first time she’d kissed him, and she hadn’t been able to stop since. If a weakness had a face, then it had black eyes and a dopey smile. She still didn’t know if she wanted to hit him or kiss him for it.

Bulla found herself in front of a white door. She stared blankly at it for probably too long, listening to the sound of voices on the other end. Chi-Chi had an unmistakable voice; it was loud and abrasive to her ears, and especially so whenever she went on about something completely stupid. Bulla had half a mind to leave, but when she heard Goten’s voice, she hesitated. But the longer she stood there...was it just her imagination, or was his voice getting closer? 

The door opening made her jump. Goten looked down at her curiously, then offered a warm smile. “You know that I can sense your ki, right?” he said, quietly. She refused to acknowledge the warmth in her cheeks, instead choosing to cross her arms and frown up at him. Where she might normally have something to say right back, her mind was blank and her stomach still felt like it was in knots. Why the hell was she so nervous all of a sudden?

Goten seemed to pick up that something was wrong. His smile waned slightly, and he glanced back over his shoulder before stepping outside. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I...want to train,” she said. “It was too hot earlier.”

“What, now?” he asked. “I mean, it’s almost midnight. Aren’t you tired?” 

She shrugged lazily. “I took a nap. I won’t be able to get back to sleep for a while, so...forget it,” she said, the last part coming out in a rush. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.” Her skin felt like it was trying to crawl off of her bones and she wanted nothing more than to go back into her bed and lie there until she either slept or...or something. She didn’t know what, but she did know she felt incredibly stupid for coming to _this idiot_ of all people. 

“You know what? I haven’t trained all week. Hang on,” he said, hopping back inside before reappearing with his shoes. “Okay! Let’s go!”

She could vaguely hear Chi-Chi calling after Goten as they left, though neither of them turned back. Truth be told, Bulla didn’t want to train. While her mind wasn’t tired, her body certainly was. The memory of the dream she’d had was fading, but remnants remained with her still; her brother’s blood-covered face and Yamcha’s hollow eyes stuck with her in particular. By the time they reached the open field, she felt sick again. She swallowed hard and forced herself to focus on Goten. He seemed far more excited at the prospect of training than she did, and he quickly took his stance. Bulla lagged behind, but once they got moving she began to fall into a rhythm.

It was like riding a bike. She knew Goten’s movements, knew his tells, knew where he was going to go before he went. Yet her body wasn’t cooperating the way she wanted it to. Her kicks didn’t land with the same power, and while her punches had never been especially strong, they didn’t seem to do much either. Bulla grew even more frustrated when she noticed that Goten seemed to be adjusting his own speed to match hers. Pulling his punches — just like he always did. 

“Stop it!” she snapped. He barely managed to block the kick to his shin. 

“Stop what?” he asked dumbly. She went to hit him again and he jumped back.

Playing dumb only irritated her more. “You _know_ what!” Her fist hit his shoulder and he swung for her with his other hand. She ducked and hit his side.

“I don’t, I promise!” he said. He grunted when she got behind him and kicked the back of his knee. “Ouch! Jeez, Bulla, do you always have to go for my knees like that?”

“Maybe if you stop pulling your punches, I won’t have a chance to!” she said. He flipped forward to put distance between them and spun around to face her. His expression became more stern, and Bulla fell into a defensive stance, hoping that meant he was going to take her seriously. _I have to get stronger,_ she thought. _I can’t do that if he doesn’t stop treating me like I’m made of glass._

Goten rushed forward, vanishing and reappearing a bit closer every time. She tried to keep up with his movements and only just succeeded in putting her arms up in time to block a punch. The force of the hit caused her to slide backward, and she had to put a lot of effort into shoving him back. He was moving much faster now, and she quickly worked up a sweat trying to keep up with him. At one point, Goten grabbed her and flung her backward behind him, the speed of which dizzying her and causing her stomach to churn. Her mouth watered and she swallowed again, trying desperately to hold it down. She turned, fully prepared to tell Goten she needed a break, but of course he’d actually listen to her _now_. He wasn’t pulling his punches, and when his fist hit the middle of her chest, she felt like all the wind had been knocked from her. Bulla fell backward, hitting the ground hard and letting out a pained yelp. 

“Oh, crap! Are you okay?!” Goten said once he realized that she wasn’t trying to trick him. His voice sounded far away to her, and Bulla turned over to her hands and knees. Before she could even try to stop it, her meal from earlier came right back up, along with apparently everything she’d ever eaten in her life. Tears stung her eyes as she tried in vain to make it stop. She jumped slightly when she felt hands on her, though she realized it was Goten. He was rubbing her back and saying _something_ she couldn’t quite hear over her own pounding heartbeat. Regardless, his voice provided some comfort. Not that she’d admit it.

“This is why I didn’t wanna hit you that hard,” he muttered, guilt coating his tone. 

“I felt...I felt like crap before that,” she said, then she scoffed. “Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said, sounding a little hurt. “If you feel sick, you should be resting, not training.”

“ _That’s_ why,” she said, exasperated. 

Even though she seemed to have run out of anything to throw up, she still tasted it in her mouth. Goten helped her to her feet, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders to hold her upright. She thought to shrug him off, but wound up leaning into his touch instead. His arm fell around her as he led her back toward the city. Without training to distract herself with, Bulla couldn’t help but notice that _presence_ again, the same one that she’d woken up to earlier. It sent a shiver down her spine and she glanced up at Goten, tempted to ask if he felt it too, but stopped herself short. If he had felt anything, he would have said something to her already, right? Or at least given some indication of it? 

 _It’s all in your head, Bulla,_ she told herself. _From that stupid dream._ The thought didn’t bring her much comfort, and when they reached her little house, she felt strangely vulnerable. He stopped in her doorway, even as she stepped inside.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll come to see you in the—”

“Stay,” she said, so abruptly that she surprised herself. Goten blinked a few times before he gave a stupidly awkward laugh and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I...you know how my mom gets,” he said, too meekly for her taste.

She snorted, irritated. “How old are you again?” The question came out sharper than she’d intended, and at the look he gave her she chewed on her bottom lip. She couldn’t stand being around the woman for so long, let alone imagine being raised by someone like Chi-Chi, so she understood his reluctance to a degree. “Just...please? I won’t be able to sleep.”

Maybe it was because she said please. Or because she’d thrown up. Or because she probably looked as pathetic as she felt, no matter how hard she tried to keep her back straight and her head held high. Whatever the case, that seemed to do the trick. Goten followed her to bed and laid down with her.

Where she normally might have at least tried to spare her pride, she felt too uneasy to fight the need to be held. So she allowed herself to rest on his chest, her head tucked under his chin. She let herself enjoy the way he kissed the top of her head and how gentle he sounded when he wished her goodnight. And when he fell asleep, she found that as long as she could hear his steady heartbeats and focused on his ki, she could forget about that unshakable feeling that there was someone else there. At least long enough to eventually drift off into a dreamless sleep.

When she woke up, the sunlight was her immediate enemy. Her entire body felt heavy and sore, especially her chest. As she rolled onto her side and stretched her fingers out over the bed, she realized she was alone. Bulla sat up slowly and looked around, still only half-awake. An empty cup was sitting on the nightstand beside her with a note scrawled under it. _‘Have to work, tea in kettle’_ it read. To her chagrin, it was the same bitter tea he’d made her drink after the fight with the Saiyans, and she scowled darkly at it. Even so, it wasn’t _as bad_ as she remembered it, and it wasn’t upsetting her stomach as she sipped at it. She ate a meal of rice and eggs before she left the house, spurred on by that feeling that she wasn’t alone.

She walked into chaos instead. People rushed by her, all of them heading in one direction. Confused, Bulla rose up above them, choosing to avoid the crowds while heading the same way. She got about halfway there when she saw Goten heading towards her, speeding up once he caught sight of her.

“What’s going on?” she said once he was close.

“Almone found us again,” he said. “I don’t know _how_ , but she did.”

 _You mean she found me again,_ she thought. Her mouth twisted into a grimace and she followed him to the main group. 18, Krillin, and Marron were already there, and once Bulla landed she went straight for her companion. The two embraced for a long while as the others spoke, and Bulla pulled away when she heard the sound of her name.

“Bulla and Marron should keep separated to confuse them,” 18 said. “You’ve had enough training to handle yourself, haven’t you?” The question was directed at Bulla, but Goten answered before she could.

“I’ll stay with her,” he said, only to be met with a disapproving frown from Krillin.

“That’s no good, Goten. We’re gonna need you out there with us,” he said. 

“I can go with you both,” Bulla interjected before anyone else could. “18’s right. I can handle myself just fine, and—”

“No way! She’d come straight for you and bring the whole army with her!” Chi-Chi’s voice scared her more than she’d care to admit. Mai wasn’t far behind the woman, and she offered Bulla a rueful smile.

“They’re here for you and Marron, but if we keep you both separated and out of sight, it’ll be easier to divide their forces,” 18 said. “You should only fight if it’s necessary, that’s all I meant.”

“I want to fight,” Bulla said, turning back to look at Goten. “I _can_ fight, you know I can.” She could sense his reluctance just by looking at his face.

“Bulla...” he began, but she advanced on him.

“It won’t be like the Saiyans,” she said. “I know better now. I can fight, Goten.”

“We don’t have time to stand around here arguing about this,” 18 cut in. “Goten. What would Vegeta do?”

Bulla didn’t know what that meant and from Goten’s expression, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. He gave a slow nod before he turned back to face her, his eyes searching hers. “Okay,” he said at last. “Okay, let’s go.” A second later, after she’d turned to follow Krillin as he took off, she felt a sharp pain on the back of her neck. A second after that, nothing else.

The yelling woke her up. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the sight of a cement ceiling above her. The room seemed to shake, causing dust and small pieces of rock to fall from above her. Bulla sat up carefully, the back of her head pounding almost loud enough to drown out the voices around her. Chi-Chi and Mai were nearby, and for a moment she had almost forgotten what was going on. At the sound of an explosion outside, it all came back to her in a flash. _Goten, you idiot!_ She jumped to her feet, anger spurring her on as she ran for the door, shoving past Chi-Chi as she did.

“Wait, Bulla!” Mai called out. 

Naturally, she ignored her. Outside, she was immediately greeted by soldiers, some of whom either didn’t recognize her or didn’t care. They treated her the same way they treated the others they were fighting. She kept up with them easily enough, forcing herself to focus on them and not the throbbing in her head and chest. The sound of a shotgun nearby alerted her, and she glanced over to see Mai fighting alongside her. Once the soldiers had been taken care of, Bulla stopped to search the sky, straining her eyes to see if any of the blurred forms belonged to Goten.

“Bulla, come back inside,” Mai urged. “If Almone finds you, she’ll come straight for us.”

“Where’s Goten?” Bulla said. Either he was hiding his ki, or... “Mai! Where is he?!” But Mai didn’t answer her, and before she could try to convince her to go back inside again, Bulla took off. She kept low enough to use the buildings as cover, but high enough to be out of sight of the soldiers on the ground. Finding Goten in all this chaos was probably going to be nearly impossible, although the rush of power she suddenly felt seemed like the best indicator of his location. She hurried toward it, clinging to it like a lifeline, and hid around the corner of a building to get a better look at the situation.

He was by himself, surrounded by that gold light she’d seen last time. There were half a dozen Elites on him, each one trying to engage him at the same time as the others but they could only do so much against him. Two men came up behind him, only to be knocked down by a blinding light. She watched his every move carefully, every hit he landed striking down on the Elites so brutal that they might as well have been made of paper. For all intents and purposes, it didn’t seem like anyone would be a match for him. 

The sound of a sputtering cough drew her attention from Goten down to the ground below. Krillin was lying among a pile of rubble, looking like he’d gone through several layers of hell. She dropped down near him and hurried to his side, pushing one of the larger of the rocks off of him. 

“Bulma?” he said as she leaned over him. “No, wait — _Bulla_? What’re you doing here?”

“Goten always pulls his punches,” she said dismissively. She reached down to help him sit upright, glancing up at the sky briefly. Goten and his opponents had drifted away slightly, further to the west. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”

“We have to—”

A light shot by her and went straight through him. It happened so quickly that Bulla barely had time to see where it came from, but by that point, she was being dragged backward by the back of her shirt. There was no mistaking who had her — Captain Almone was taller and stronger than most people.

“It’s time to come home, princess,” Almone said. “Rest assured that when Lord Frieza returns, I’ll see to it he knows just how _disobedient_ you’ve been.”

Bulla immediately swung for her, her fist hitting the captain in the throat and causing her to call out in surprise. Her grip did not falter. Bulla brought that fist down into the inside of Almone’s elbow, trying to break her hold. It didn’t work, so Bulla tried her neck again, then turned her body around to kick Almone, only for that blow to be blocked. She spun again and brought her knee into the captain’s gut, finally forcing Almone to let go.

For a second, Bulla had an opening to run. She knew her body was too sore, too exhausted to keep going. Instead, she chose to lash out again, desperate to end the captain here and now. _I’m stronger than her,_ she told herself. _I’m stronger._ Almone reached out and grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her forward and slamming her into the wall behind her. Bulla pushed away from the wall, slamming herself back against Almone to knock the tall woman down.

But the captain dragged her down with her and swiftly rolled the pair of them over so that she was on top of Bulla. From this position, Bulla could clearly see her throat. One strike, one quick hit, she could knock her back, regain the upper hand. _Be faster, be faster, be faster,_ she repeated to herself as the pair wrestled for control. Her strength was waning, her arms and legs feeling heavier by the second. Finally, Bulla knocked back Almone’s hands and lashed upwards with a shaking hand.

The captain only laughed, like Bulla’s strike did nothing to her but tickle. Almone grabbed the front of her shirt and jerked her upwards to headbutt her. Dazed, Bulla swung at her but the captain batted her hand away. She hit Bulla again, so hard that her vision went completely white.

“You’ve had your fun, _princess_. Time to go back where you belong,” Almone hissed. She stood, dragging Bulla up with her and casually ignoring how the younger woman fought back. But no matter what she did, it was like none of Bulla’s hits even registered. She was half-Saiyan, and yet she might as well have been wearing those jewels again. The further along Almone dragged her, the more her mind raced. No one was stopping her — Goten didn’t even know she was there, and Krillin was in no shape to help. 

“No,” she said, digging her heels into the ground. “I’m not going back!”

Almone jerked her forward, using her elbow to hit her in the face. Her nose started to bleed almost immediately. “Shut up, _brat_. You’ll be spending a month in the reprogramming chamber.”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Bulla murmured, but she was too lightheaded to focus. Panic and desperation lit her brain on fire, but her body moved too sluggishly to be of use. _Can’t go back, I can’t go back,_ she thought urgently. Bulla could have sworn someone was nearby; that presence was still there, still weak, yet she had hoped maybe...her eyes darted upward, pleadingly as she searched for someone — _anyone_ — and she found no one. She was on her own, and as Almone continued to pull her along, her desperation began to turn to rage. 

All at once it felt like every nerve inside her body had been turned to flame. She’d come too far, had done too much, to just be taken right back to the city to be some maniac’s glorified doll. Even if Lord Frieza never came back, she knew her fate would wind up much the same under Almone’s heel. And she couldn’t, _wouldn’t,_ let that happen. That feeling surged inside of her until she felt it in the palm of her hands.

“What the—” Almone started to say, but she noticed the heat too late. The ball of energy shot out and forced her to release Bulla, who stumbled backward to the ground. Almone clutched her burnt hand, staring at it in shock that quickly turned to anger. “You little _brat_ ,” she hissed. But as she advanced, Bulla held both of her hands up. She held onto that rage, the frenzied terror that gripped her mind, and screamed it into existence through the palms of her hands. The shock of light was far brighter than she’d ever seen, and she closed her eyes against it. Vaguely she heard Almone cry out, but a couple of seconds later, there was only silence.

Bulla’s entire body shook, both from exhaustion and adrenaline. She heard her name being called and when she opened her eyes again, Goten was rushing toward her. He brought her upright and held her against his chest for a moment, his arms caged around her to keep her steady. When he pulled back, he did so to look down at her, his gaze searching her face.

“A-Almone,” she said, turning her head away from him to look around frantically. “She’s—”

“It’s okay, you got her,” he said. He put his hand on the side of her face to bring her attention back to him. “You got her, Bulla. She’s gone.” 

 _Got her?_ The way he said it, it was as if even he was having a hard time believing that. “Gone?” she said, groggily. Her mind felt like it was full of mud. No matter where she looked, she saw no sign of the captain, living or dead.

“Y-yeah. Gone,” he confirmed. His expression was one of mixed bewilderment and wariness, though she couldn’t be sure why. But his attention was drawn elsewhere, and he looked up before looking back to her. “We gotta go, okay? Can you fly?” She nodded dully and he seemed to accept that. As he turned to leave, however, she abruptly grabbed his arm.

“Krillin!” she gasped. His eyes widened and the pair of them hurried back down the street. Krillin was still among the rubble, only this time there was a small pool of blood forming underneath him. He was awake, but Bulla could tell it wouldn’t last long. The gaping hole in his abdomen would make sure of it.

Goten still rushed over and dropped to his knees beside him. She watched as he fished the senzu beans out of his pocket. “Goten, I don’t think...” she began, pityingly. Krillin had always been nice to her, even if she didn’t really know why. Goten didn’t seem to hear her, and she frowned to herself. Even a dozen medipills at this point would be useless.

Yet as she thought that, and as her mind wandered to Marron and how she would tell her that her father had died, Krillin hopped up to his feet as if nothing had happened. Like he didn’t have a giant hole in his body and — well, he didn’t. She blinked rapidly, her brows furrowing in confusion as she stared. The two men began laughing together, happily congratulating the other on their apparently shared near-death experiences. Come to think of it, Goten himself had a hole in his shirt. But there was no way...

“W-what...how did...” she began, flustered. Goten finally seemed to notice her very apparent confusion and he held the bag up. 

“Senzu beans! Remember what I said? They can heal anything,” he said proudly. “Come on, we should get going. We have to make sure everyone’s okay.”

The nausea came back with a vengeance as they flew over the ruined outskirts of the city. As it happened, the defenses that Goten and everyone else had put up worked wonders. Only a small portion of Almone’s fleet had actually managed to break through, and many of them wound up on the receiving end of the combined furies of Goten, 18, Krillin, Mai...and pretty much every single person living there.

South City itself had definitely seen better days, and there were plenty of casualties on their end, but the fact remained: they won. Almone was gone, and with her, it was only a matter of time before Frieza’s Forces descended into chaos. The power vacuum left behind by both Frieza and Almone would likely prove disastrous. For now, the soldiers were scrambling to escape before they were either captured or killed. Goten and Krillin broke away from her to begin rounding up prisoners and telling the South City resistance to cease firing. She was too tired to join them.

“Bulla!” Marron’s voice was like a song, and the two women held each other for a long time. The sickness she felt grew stronger, however, and she was quick to excuse herself. Marron followed her back to her home, which had been miraculously spared much damage.

“I’ll make you tea,” Marron said as they entered. “You should...you should get cleaned up. Take a bath and try to relax.” Bulla nodded weakly and Marron leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead. She wanted nothing more than to relish in that feeling, but she made herself go to the bathroom anyway.

Bulla peeled off her clothes slowly, her arms and legs feeling so sore that she was sure they’d fall off any second. Her chest in particular hurt and she grimaced as she pried her bra off and tossed it aside. But when she got to her underwear, she caught sight of something that made her pause. She squinted down at the red spots, her mind struggling to come to terms with what she was seeing. Because the thing was, Bulla hadn’t seen _that_ for years. It wasn’t possible, not with what Frieza had done to her.

She tried to ignore it, she really did. Yet as she sank into the warm water, her mind wouldn’t let it go, constantly coming back to the same thoughts. _Senzu beans,_ Goten’s voice reminded her. _They can heal anything!_ But he couldn’t have been serious. He couldn’t have really meant _anything_ , right? No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t have been possible.

She was young when it happened, when Frieza had declared her father’s line extinct. As everything in her life, she was given no options, no chance to argue. She was put to sleep one way and woke up another. Constantly he reminded her that her death, and her brother’s death, would mean the true death of the Saiyans. Every time he touched her he reminded her that she was merely a toy, her body was meant to be played with and nothing else. There would never be any risk of any more filthy monkeys roaming around. He would ensure she and Trunks both suffered for the sins of their father’s people, which seemed to be just for daring to have existed at all.

The pounding in her chest was so loud it made her ears ring. Bulla knew, _she knew_ , that she was overreacting. _No more filthy monkeys_. Just like she knew that that weak ki she felt following her around was all in her head. _No more filthy monkeys._ That her nightmares had only gotten worse and that that was why she wasn’t thinking straight. _No more filthy monkeys._ And that, as she brought a shaky hand down to the space just below her belly button, there’d be nothing there.

_Wrong again, Frieza._


	47. Good Luck

“You’re sure that’s the last of them?” Goten asked 18. She nodded, her hands at her hips as they both watched South City’s resistance forces rounding up Almone’s men. The captain’s death followed the death of her two most senior commanders, both of whom Goten had dispatched himself before he witnessed Almone’s own demise. With no leaders, her forces were scrambling to flee back to West City or elsewhere. It was impressive just how quickly they folded once they realized they were leaderless. All it took were a few well-placed ambushes and now they had a decent number of prisoners.

“You’ll have to decide what to do with them,” 18 said.

“What, me? Why me?” Goten said, surprised at the notion.

“You’re the reason we won. You planned the defenses, you defeated the commanders and Almone—”

“Bulla defeated Almone,” he quickly corrected. He glanced over at the resistance forces, his eyes sweeping over them as they celebrated. Just beyond the crowd, Mai stood guard in front of a small group of Frieza’s Forces, all bound together and sitting back to back on the ground. “I can’t make that kind of decision, 18.”

“Everyone sees you as their leader,” she said. “Whether you want it or not, these people look to you for answers now. You’ll just have to get used to that fact.”

Goten chewed on his lower lip, just as he’d done when he was a kid and his mom questioned him. “For now, just...keep them locked up. I’ll figure it out later.”

18 gave a quick nod before she left him to stand there, walking away to join her husband. Goten watched her leave and brought a hand up to rub the back of his head nervously. He knew she wasn’t wrong. Ever since he was younger, most people who knew his father seemed to view him as a stand-in for the man. It probably had more to do with the strong resemblance he had than his actual skills, because he rarely felt up to the task. He really did try to imagine what Son Goku would do in most situations but frankly, he had more experience with Vegeta’s school of thought. And he really didn’t enjoy the answers he was coming up with.

On that depressing note, Goten pulled his gaze away from the group and just managed to catch sight of Bulla and Marron as they headed down the street. He wanted nothing more than to follow after them, to check on Bulla and make sure she really was okay. Her fight with Almone seemed to have taken a heavy toll on her. Although considering she had Marron with her, he’d probably just find himself on the receiving end of a brutal dismissal. Or maybe not. Seriously, it was really hard to tell with her.

Bulla had always been a little weird when it came to the thing between them, but ever since they’d started seeing each other again she’d only gotten, well, _weirder_. Like she couldn’t decide if she wanted him around or not. And when she did want him around, she was far more affectionate than she’d ever been before. As much as she insisted that it didn’t mean anything, the way she clung to him and the way she looked at him when she thought he was asleep or not paying attention made him think there had to be more there. Then again, it could also just be that she’d been sick lately, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the strange fluctuation in her ki had anything to do with it.

He put it out of his mind on his way back to his house, where his mom was already in the process of sweeping up a giant mess. There were remnants of a fight all over the dining room, and Chi-Chi looked more annoyed than usual as she swept.

“Oh, jeez, what happened?” he said, walking over to lift the chunk of concrete. It had shattered their table into a million pieces.

“Some idiot thought he could just waltz on in here and demand I hand you over!” she said, haughtily. “The _nerve_ of some people.” He stepped over to toss the slab outside, glancing out to see how much damage had been done to the neighbor’s wall as well. “By the way, Bulla woke up and took off before any of us could stop her. Did she...?”

Goten glanced back at his mother in surprise. She sounded genuinely concerned for a moment, but the way she went back to aggressively sweeping with her eyes closed made him think twice about mentioning that. “Oh, uh, I found her. She’s okay, just a little beat up. I’m surprised she woke up at all, actually,” he said.

“Hmph. Well, you just remind her that it was reckless to run off like that! She worried Mai half to death pulling that little stunt. Who knows what could have happened if you hadn’t found her?” Chi-Chi said. He quickly turned away so she didn’t see his smile, and worked on cleaning up the room with her. 

“She’s pretty stubborn,” he said fondly. “She probably wouldn’t listen to me even if I did tell her that.” When his mother didn’t say anything right away, he glanced back to find her watching him with a sorrowful expression on her face. His smile faded and concern took its place. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

Chi-Chi let out a great sigh and clutched the broom a little tighter in her hands. “You really _do_ like her, don’t you?” 

Goten paused as he considered her for a moment, watched the way her shoulders sagged. You’d have thought he’d been caught setting fire to open fields or stealing from the neighbors. But he supposed him being in love with a woman like Bulla was just about the same thing to his mother in terms of offenses.

“Yeah, I do,” he finally said. “A lot.” Another sigh and she went back to sadly sweeping. “She’s not bad, you know. You should go easy on her, mom. Frieza had her for a really long time, so...she sees things a little differently.”

“I know that! Why do you think I’ve been trying to teach her how to do things?” Chi-Chi said, defensively. “She doesn’t appreciate the time and effort that goes into life outside the city! I know you two like your training, but if you’re going to be together then at least one of you ought to know how to cook or clean things up. Anyway, she’s old enough to know how to clean her own clothes and wash her own dishes.”

Goten rubbed the back of his head. He tried to imagine Bulla doing half the stuff his mom did around the house, but all he saw was her glaring at him. “I mean, I can handle all that stuff just fine,” he said. Still, he’d always known his mom was just looking out for her, even if Bulla didn’t see it like that. 

“It’s not _proper_ ,” Chi-Chi complained. “Oh, Goten. You really need to start thinking about the future. Now that Frieza and Almone are gone, what are you going to do?”

Actually, he hadn’t thought about that. It struck him just how odd the idea was — a world without Frieza was unthinkable to him at this point. Those memories he had of life before seemed so far away, and sometimes he wasn’t even sure if they were real or just very vivid dreams. But now, a future without having to constantly look over his shoulder sounded pretty dang nice. And it probably would have been if he hadn’t remembered where Gohan had gone, or that the Saiyans were still looking for him and Bulla.

“I’m not so sure we can relax just yet,” he said. “There’s still plenty out there to worry about.” He frowned at the floor and bent to clean up the remaining pieces of their table.

“Maybe...we can go back home?” Chi-Chi said. There was a hopefulness to her tone that almost broke Goten’s heart.

“Yeah...yeah, maybe,” he said. They continued cleaning in silence, and Goten stepped outside to board up the side of the house. He’d just started thinking about going to bed when he caught sight of a blonde woman approaching him. At first, he thought it was 18 — but as she got closer, he realized it was Marron. Normally, he only saw her with Bulla, so he couldn’t help it when his eyes searched for signs of the blue-haired woman nearby. When he didn’t see her, he felt a tinge of worry.

“Hey, Marron,” he greeted once she was near.

“Hello, Goten,” she said, offering him a warm smile before she looked back at the wall he’d repaired. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Oh, this? No, just finished up, actually,” he said. He put his hands on his sides and returned her smile. “Say, we haven’t had a chance to catch up since you got here, huh?”

“I’m afraid we haven’t,” she said. “Would you mind walking with me?” 

Truth be told, he was pretty tired. He’d done a lot of fighting, a lot of running, and now a lot of working. But he still agreed, and after he’d hopped back inside to tell Chi-Chi that he’d be back, he joined Marron on her walk. She slipped her arm around his as they went, which seemed to be her way of gently leading him wherever she wanted to go. 

“I’ve missed you, Goten,” she said. “You’ve grown up so much.”

He laughed and smiled fondly. “Same goes for you! You’re a lot taller now.”

“I should hope so,” Marron said, also laughing.

“Hey, you remember the games we used to play when we were kids?” 

“Of course I do,” she said. “If I remember correctly, you used to be very good at juggling.”

“Trunks was better at it,” he replied. “He was usually better at a lot.”

“Maybe so, but you were my favorite. I trust you won’t tell him I said that,” she said.

His smile turned rueful, but he nodded regardless. She probably had more opportunity to interact with Trunks than _he’d_ had in years, all things considered, and talking about his old friend made him feel nostalgic. As they walked, he realized she was taking him somewhere specific — and specifically, she was taking him to Bulla’s house.

Marron seemed to notice he’d realized where they were, and brought them to a stop. Though she was still smiling, there was something melancholy about her expression as she spoke. “Bulla is very special to me. She was all I had for a very long time, and I was all she had,” she said. “But things have clearly changed. She asked for you.” Her arm untwined from his and she stepped away. For a moment, Goten wasn’t entirely sure of what she was trying to say. He could tell there was something underneath her tone, something he couldn’t quite identify, but she’d already turned to leave by the time he thought to ask her.

The house was quiet when he walked in. It was pretty tiny, even for what it was; the living room was the kitchen and the dining room all at once. Bulla stood leaning against the table, partially sitting on it and only moving away when he shut the door behind him. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for her to cross the room and immediately press him against the door. Her lips were on his in an instant, her hands at the sides of his face to hold him there. Goten had to bend slightly to make up for their height difference, his own hands falling to her waist automatically.

“H-hey,” he managed between fervent kisses. “Bulla, what’s, uh, what’s going on?”

“Shut up,” she muttered against his mouth. “Don’t talk, just...just don’t.” Her fingers were tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it up while simultaneously pulling him closer to her. Normally, Goten might have been happy to go along with this. In fact, this was how so many of their interactions seemed to go. But right now there was something off about it, something robotic and unnatural in her movements. Like she was going through the motions more than actually enjoying anything about what she was doing. It didn’t help that there were bruises and cuts all over her, or that she winced when his fingers brushed over a bruise. And her ki was all over the place. Hell, the fact he could _tell_ it was all over the place meant something was up. 

He caught her wrist before her hand slid into his pants. “Hold on — wait,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” she said, far too defensively. “Do you want me or not?”

“Of course I do, but…” Goten touched the side of her face, cupping her cheek in his hand and brushing away strands of her hair. It was damp, and judging by the way she smelled, he could tell she’d probably just bathed. “I think we should just rest,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

She looked surprised, confused, taken aback — all of those things at once. Her hand came up to touch his on her face for a moment before she pulled it away and pushed him back. “Fine. Go rest, then.”

“Bulla—”

“I said _go_ ,” she snapped.

It was his turn to be confused. Goten had a hard time figuring her out on a _good_ day, but right now was another matter entirely. All of his instincts were telling him something was wrong, she was telling him there was nothing, and now that he’d suggested simply resting she wanted him gone. Did she really only want him there for _that?_ The idea hurt more than he was expecting it to, though at first, he tried to bite it back. He made to leave but stopped as his hand touched the doorknob, turning back to look at her.

“Look, I know something’s going on,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me what it is if you really don’t want to, but you can’t do this to me either. It’s not fair.”

He frowned at her as she folded her arms and looked away from him. “ _Fair_ ,” she said with a scoff.

It took a lot to annoy him but frankly, her attitude was really pushing it for him. “You know I’m a person too, right? I care about you, Bulla, but I can’t just be something you use for a bit then put away when you’re tired of me.”

That seemed to strike a nerve for her. In an instant, her expression changed from one of mild irritation to something that almost resembled shame. It was gone a couple of seconds later when she hugged herself a little tighter and shifted her gaze elsewhere. Goten remained where he was for a bit longer, hand still on the door while he watched her and waited. He’d hoped that she would say something — at least acknowledge how he felt or admit she was wrong. But whatever she was thinking, she didn’t seem interested in sharing. He turned back to the door with a sigh, though that was about as far as he got before she spoke up.

“Goten, wait,” she said. “I don’t want you to go.” Of course she’d wait until he resolved to go. She always had to play this game of cat and mouse with him, only this time he was tired of it.

“You told me to,” he answered.

“I know that, I—”

“Twice,” he interrupted before she could finish. The look she shot him was severe, and usually, it might have been a little intimidating. Right now, however, he was feeling just reckless enough to ignore it. Now, his weariness made him bolder than usual. “But it’s okay. I really do have to get some rest.”

“I told you, I don’t want you to go,” she said quickly.

“We can talk tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head. “I have to get back to my mom anyway.”

“ _Please_ stay,” she said, stepping closer. It almost seemed like she was pleading, but she’d done this before too. He was too accustomed to her tricks.

“Bulla, we can just talk to—” He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence. One second, he was holding the doorknob, ready to step out and go back home. The next, the door was gone, though he was still _holding_ the doorknob. He blinked in confusion as his mind worked to catch up with what just happened. Bulla had held out her hand, probably to stop him, and a ki blast tore past him and took out the door. As he turned back to look at her in surprise, he saw she wore a similar expression.

“I...I didn’t mean to...” she stammered, looking down at her hand.

“ _Jeez_!” Goten blurted out. His mind caught up and he held the doorknob up to stare at it before looking back to her. “You almost hit me with that!”

“I said I didn’t mean to!”

“Yeah, but...but _jeez_!”

“Shut up! I wasn’t even aiming for you, anyway!” 

“Well what the heck were you aiming for?!”

“I wasn’t!” Bulla yelled. Her arms crossed again and the scowl she wore was betrayed by the distress in her voice. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I just wanted you to _stop_.”

Goten wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this. It was hard to ignore how wild her ki was right now, and that little outburst was enough to put him on edge. But the look on her face, underneath the glaring and the refusal to look at him directly, worried him. Whether or not she was willing to share exactly what was going on with her, he could surrender his position for now. Maybe Almone had knocked her around harder than he thought, and she was still shaken up. Guilt settled in his stomach at the thought, and he mentally kicked himself for not considering that. This was, after all, her first real fight against such a strong opponent and it just happened to be against someone who actively participated in ruining her life. Plus, the amount of energy she must have used for that last blast had to have exhausted her.

She may have been a frustrating, confusing, and incredibly stubborn woman, but she clearly needed him more than she was willing to let on. But could anyone blame him for being so reluctant? He sighed and dropped the doorknob onto the pile that used to be a door. “Okay, but...we can’t stay here tonight. You should come with me to my place. We can sleep there.”

“What about your mom?” she said. The uncertainty wore itself plainly on her face and in her voice, though he gave a shrug in response.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “She’ll be fine. We can fix your door in the morning.”

Despite his many, many assurances, Goten spent about ten minutes convincing her to go with him before she finally agreed. She walked at his side, clutching herself the entire time as though she didn’t trust her own hands if she wasn’t using them to hold onto something. The walk was mostly silent; he tried to make small talk but she didn’t seem interested. When they arrived back to his house his mother was understandably surprised to see Bulla in tow. As soon as his mother’s back was turned, he leaned down so he was closer to Bulla’s ear.

“Hey, so...try not to blow anything up,” he whispered. He expected and knew he deserved the punch to the arm he received, so he laughed it off. It accomplished what he wanted, as far as lightening up the mood at least a little bit. Unfortunately, his mom seemed to completely misinterpret what he’d said.

“Don’t think you two can do anything inappropriate under _my_ roof,” Chi-Chi said loudly. Goten’s cheeks turned beet red almost immediately and he laughed awkwardly.

“C-come on, mom, we weren’t going to do anything!” he said, trying and failing to mask his embarrassment.

“Hmph! Regardless, I want you on the couch and she can take your bed,” she said, folding her arms. “That’s that! No argument, do you hear me, young man?!”

He knew better than to argue with her, and thankfully so did Bulla. They dispersed to separate rooms not long after, with Goten left to stare woefully at the small couch before opting to sleep on the floor instead. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about rolling off of _that_. He hadn’t fully gone to sleep when he felt Bulla settling next to him. Part of him knew that he should have told her to go back to his bed so they could avoid his mother’s wrath. The other part didn’t care; he was too tired and her body felt too nice against him. He pressed his face into the back of her head and nuzzled his nose into her hair as he pulled her closer. Falling asleep was easier knowing she was right there with him, and he dozed off listening to the sound of her breathing.

When he woke up, she was gone. It took him a minute to realize she must have returned to his bed, which was probably for the best anyway. He wasn’t given much time to wonder or worry — his mother was awake too, which meant he had to be careful not to provoke either of them into fighting each other. Despite his mom’s recent acceptance of how he felt for her, it was still better to be safe than sorry.

Goten’s desire to avoid potentially setting his mom off didn’t last very long, however. He was in the middle of breakfast when he finally acknowledged his growing concern over Bulla’s absence. His eyes kept drifting over to his door, hoping that he’d see her any second and for every moment that passed without her, he found it slightly more difficult to eat.

“Hey, mom?” he started, hesitantly. “Is, uh...is Bulla still asleep?”

Chi-Chi paused in her dishwashing, glancing back at him from over her shoulder. “She was awake a little while ago,” she said absently. “Jilby wanted to speak with you as soon as possible though, so there’s no time for you to be slacking off today.”

“Right,” he said, though his eyes trailed over to his bedroom door. His mind wandered back to the night before, and how randomly she’d destroyed her own door with an apparently unprompted ki blast. Even now something felt odd to him, though he was relieved to know she was definitely in his room. “Hey, mom...can you go easy on her today? I don’t think she’s feeling well.”

“Not feeling well?” Chi-Chi repeated, puzzled. Before she could say anything else, there was a knock on their door. One of Jilby’s sons, Uata, was on the other side, somehow managing to look more annoyed than his father ever did. Uata had the same dark skin his father did, but with deep blue hair and brown eyes. He was also much taller than the man, yet they shared pretty much the same face.

“Didn’t you get the message?” Uata said with a weary sigh before Goten could greet him. 

“Uh...yeah, I was just eating.”

“Hurry it up! Mai needs your help dealing with those prisoners,” Uata said. He didn’t give Goten much time to reply, leaving so quick that Goten could only rub the back of his head. He turned to grab his shoes and caught sight of Bulla stepping out of his room. She looked very much as though she’d just rolled out of bed, her hair messier than he was used to seeing it. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, smiling gently at her. 

“Where are you going?” she said. She brought a hand up to rub at her eyes.

“I have to go take care of some things,” he answered.

Bulla nodded, then moved to grab her own shoes. “I’m coming with you.”

“You sure? Have you eaten yet?” 

“I’m not hungry,” she muttered. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but Bulla had already walked by him before he could say anything. It was better not to argue, he decided. Her ki was still in a questionable state when he focused on it, though she herself seemed calmer than she was the night before.

Mai was waiting for him when they arrived and gave the pair of them a bright smile. She adjusted her gun to one shoulder to give him a hug, then nodded to Bulla. “Glad you could finally make it,” she said. “So, what do you want to do with them?”

He’d almost forgotten why he came, but the reminder offered him no joy. “Right...how many are there?”

“About thirty,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder toward the building he assumed they were being kept. “Most of them are just your standard rank and file types, but there are a couple of Elites in there too.”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, then brought a hand up to rub the back of his head. Of all the things he didn’t want to do, this was probably pretty up on his list. But just as he thought to say something, Bulla suddenly spoke up.

“Did you already question them? Find out what they know?” she asked. Mai looked at her in surprise.

“Well, I can’t imagine they’d have much to offer anymore,” she said.

“Frieza’s Forces don’t begin and end with Almone,” Bulla said, sounding almost exasperated. “We should find out who the most likely successor is. The faster we do, the better.”

“Wait — do you think they’ll actually try to rebuild?” Goten asked. It was hard to hide the dread in his voice. 

“ _Obviously_. They won’t need to try very hard. I guarantee Almone had fail-safes in place, and even if _she_ didn’t then Frieza certainly did,” she said. “Find out who that successor is, then execute them all.”

“Whoa, _what_?” Goten said. “Execution’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Do you think they’d do any less to you or anyone else here?” she asked, crossing her arms under her chest. “Better to get rid of them now before they can come back to kill us later.”

“I hate to say it, but...I think she’s right, Goten,” Mai said. He glanced between the pair of them in silent shock, then he shook his head vigorously. 

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to agree to that,” he said. “We’re _not_ executing anyone.”

“Goten, don’t be stupid,” Bulla snapped, irritably. “They would do worse to you, to all of us, if they had the chance!”

“What, so we should do it to them first? No way, Bulla!”

“ _Goten_ ,” she urged, stepping closer to him.

“Bulla, no. I’m not talking about this anymore,” he said. “We can question them, but we’ll keep them where they are.”

Mai reluctantly nodded her agreement, and he didn’t need to look at Bulla to tell she was seething. Both women followed him as he headed for the door, but his hand barely touched the handle when he felt a sharp spike in ki. Bulla seemed to notice it too; they both turned to look around, and Goten focused on the feeling. It was approaching them from somewhere to the north, faster than anything he’d ever felt before. Something about it seemed almost familiar. Almost like...

 _Oh, kami._ “That’s Vegeta,” he said under his breath.

“Are you sure?” Bulla said, her voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah, there’s no doubt. That’s definitely him,” he said. “But I don’t get it. Gohan said he wanted us to stay hidden...”

“Maybe something changed?”

Goten’s brow furrowed. “Or something happened,” he said. The thought made him uneasy, but apparently not as uneasy as Bulla. He heard her gag and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. Mai went to her side, though she looked skyward as though she might be able to see where Vegeta was coming from.

“Mai, get Bulla back to my mom,” he said. “Bulla, try to hide your ki as long as you can. I don’t want to take any chances.”

Bulla looked like she wanted to answer him, but her hand remained firmly at her mouth. She and Mai only got a few feet away before she rushed off to the side of the road. For his part, Goten hurried to the north of the city, ideally so he could meet Vegeta as he approached. If this was some kind of trick, he couldn’t imagine what they would do about it. South City was still standing after the previous day’s attack, sure, but while their defenses held well enough against Frieza’s Forces that mostly comprised of humans, he knew they didn’t stand even half a chance against a fleet of Saiyans. Especially not if they were led by Vegeta.

But what was he thinking? If they were led by Vegeta, there was _no way_ he’d attack them...right? After all, with Bulla here, he wouldn’t risk her getting hurt. Then again, if this was a trick, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d get out of it by himself. If that wasn’t Vegeta coming toward him, then it was someone just as strong as him.

The suspense didn’t last long, and luckily for him, it was in fact Vegeta. There was no mistaking that spiky hair or the scowl on his face. There was a ship following him, barely able to keep up as the two hurtled toward them. Goten glanced down at the north side walls and caught a glimpse of a few defenders hiding in wait, then held out his hand toward them to put them at ease. Both Vegeta and the ship began to slow as they got close, although now Goten could see the anger in the Saiyan prince’s eyes more clearly.

“It really is you,” Goten said, relieved. “I thought Gohan said you—”

“Not now,” he hissed. The ship went by them and found a place to land not far away, Vegeta’s eyes never leaving it. Goten followed his line of sight and watched as two Saiyans disembarked, one small round one and the other—

“Wait, I know her!” Goten whirled back around to face Vegeta. “That woman! Vegeta, I know her!”

“I said _not now_ , Goten,” he said again through clenched teeth. “Come on.”

In spite of his confusion, Goten still followed Vegeta obediently. They landed not far from the ship and he couldn’t help but stare down Tollash with a hardened gaze. There was no mistaking that woman, not after what she and her other partner had done to Bulla. He felt his blood begin to boil, but the sight of another familiar face exiting the ship drew his attention away in time to distract him.

“Bulma!” he exclaimed. She’d cut her hair, he noticed as she hurried to meet him with a hug. “Boy, am I glad to see you!”

“You too, Goten! Feels like it’s been a lot longer than it has,” she said. When he pulled away, he realized there was sadness in the way she looked at him, and she brought a hand up to touch the side of his face. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Me, too! What are...I mean, what are you guys doing here?”

“Enough,” Vegeta interrupted impatiently. “Where’s Bulla?”

Goten hesitated at that. He wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Vegeta, especially in front of the two Saiyans and _especially_ in front of the one Saiyan that had a hand in almost crippling her. Also, it was really hard to read what Vegeta wanted him to do with the way he was glaring at him. So he looked to Bulma, and it was only at her nod that he finally relented.

“She’s sick, so she’s with my mom,” he said.

“Excuse me?” said Vegeta, sounding very much like someone who had heard him, but did not actually believe him. “What do you mean _sick_?”

“Well, I mean...she’s been feeling under the weather,” Goten said. He wasn’t sure how else to say it. “I think she has the flu or something.”

The scoff Vegeta let out was somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Tch. Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not lying,” Goten insisted. “She’s been throwing up and—”

“ _What?_ You’re serious?” Vegeta said. “Idiot. When’s the last time _you_ got sick with something as stupid as the flu?”

“Oh, uh...I guess not since I was—” He didn’t wait around to give Goten time to reply; he took off, and the shorter Saiyan went with him.

“Goten, you said she’s been throwing up?” Bulma said. The alarm in her voice bewildered him, but he nodded all the same. It got him wondering if he should have been more worried about her than he already was, given the way both Vegeta and Bulma reacted.

“Y-yeah, and her ki’s been...weird,” he said. Bulma began walking in the direction that Vegeta had rushed off to, and Goten felt like an idiot for not being as concerned as he should have been. He caught up with her and took her with him, carrying her back toward his house. They arrived just in time to see Vegeta walk back outside. He snapped his attention to Goten abruptly, his mouth twisting into an angry snarl.

“What have you done?” he asked, his tone too steady, too even for the anger he wore. Goten shrank under his gaze and fumbled over his words, unsure of what Vegeta was even referring to but terrified that he would get the answer wrong anyway.

“Uh...what?” he finally managed. 

“My _daughter_ ,” Vegeta hissed. “What have you done?”

“W-we’ve been training?” Goten said, uncertainly. A new series of worries crossed his mind — was she hurt? Was she even sicker than she let on? Her ki was still present, still there, and still as wild as it had been the last few days. What was he missing?

“Training,” Vegeta repeated flatly. “ _Training?!_ ”

“I-I—” he stammered, but Bulma unexpectedly stepped into view and gave a loud laugh.

“Oh, come on, Vegeta! You remember what it was like when _we_ were young, right?”

That didn’t seem to help defuse whatever was going on. In fact, Goten quickly learned that it appeared to have been the exact opposite of the best thing she could have said. He didn’t even realize Vegeta had moved until he was knocked back a few dozen feet, landing among a pile of rubble. He narrowly managed to roll out of the way of a fist burying itself into the concrete where his head had been.

“W-what’d I do?!” he yelped. Vegeta didn’t answer, Instead, he came in for another punch and struck the side of Goten’s head. He yelled again, but began a series of evasive maneuvers, doing his best to put as much distance between them while searching his mind for literally _any_ answer as to why Vegeta was attacking him.

“You little shit! I trusted your dumb ass and _this_ is what you do?!” he bellowed.

“What?! What did I do?!” Goten yelled back.

“Don’t you play stupid with me!”

“I swear I’m not playing!”

Damn, that only made him _angrier_ , if that were even possible. Goten took a particularly hard hit to the gut when he finally managed to find an out. He dove back down to the ground and scrambled to get behind Bulma, not feeling the least bit of shame for hiding behind the prince’s wife. She tried to turn so she could face him, but he remained very adamantly at her back.

“What the...Goten, he’s not going to kill you,” she said as she kept trying to turn around.

“Yes he is!” he said, panic settling in his voice. He’d never seen Vegeta so mad, at least not directed at him, and he couldn’t help feeling like a little kid again.

“Oh, please. You’re like a—”

“Jackass! Get out here and face me, you coward!” Vegeta shouted, landing a few feet away. 

“Vegeta, come on,” Bulma said, holding up her hands. “They’re young! Let them have some fun and—”

“Pregnant!” Vegeta interrupted. “Is a _baby_ part of that fun?!”

Goten was positive he misheard Vegeta. He _had_ to have, because there was absolutely no way that that was right. Bulla had told him about what Frieza did to her, at least enough to assure him that such a thing wasn’t possible. She wouldn’t have risked it otherwise, wouldn’t have held him so close every time he...

No. _No._ He definitely misheard Vegeta. Or Vegeta was just wrong. That was also a possibility because there was absolutely no way that he was right. Right? Kami, please be right. Not Vegeta right, the other right. He felt really hot all of a sudden, now that he thought about it, and realized that he’d been standing there like a slack-jawed idiot for the entire duration of the deathly silence that fell between them. Goten didn’t even move until he dimly noted that Bulla had stepped outside, looking paler than she had before and almost as angry as her father.

Bulma was the first voice that actually reached him, however. She turned very slowly so that she could face him, and by then he’d forgotten that she was the only thing between him and Vegeta. “Goten,” she began, her tone eerily stiff. “I...I very _specifically_ warned you about this. I definitely said _not_ to do this.” Her words failed her for a moment and she brought a hand up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. “I mean, I could not have made myself any clearer, Goten!”

“B-but...but she’s...she’s not…” he started, but his words kept catching in his throat. His gaze darted from Bulma to Vegeta, and then finally to Bulla. “She...she can’t. She said she can’t, I, uh...” Goten stepped away from Bulma, just a few feet so that he had closed some of the gap between him and Bulla. “Right? You said that it wasn’t...that you couldn’t because of...”

Bulla’s anger hadn’t dissipated, but she hesitated and chewed the bottom of her lip for a moment before she spoke. “Senzu bean,” she said, simply as if it explained everything. And, well, it kind of did even if it took a minute to sink in.

“Oh...oh, okay,” was all he could manage. Everything was slowly falling apart around him while at the same time piecing together. Bulla’s weird ki, her sickness, the way she wanted him one second and then immediately pushed him away the next — it all made so much more sense now, and he felt kind of stupid for not realizing it before. But now that he knew that it wasn’t just her ki he’d been sensing, that it was someone  _inside_ her...it made him feel strangely light-headed to think about.

A wail cut through all the chaos going on in his mind. He looked up and realized his mother must have heard everything. She hurried toward him, and he moved too slowly to avoid the way her hands shot to the front of his shirt and yanked him closer.

“Goten, tell me that’s not true!” she yelled. 

“Uh, I-, it’s—“

He didn’t even form half a sentence before she cried again and shook him. “Oh, what happened to my sweet Goten?! How could you do this?! You’re not even married!” She looked over to Bulla sharply and scowled at her. “This is _your_ fault!”

Both Vegeta and Bulma took offense to that instantly, although Bulla simply looked the same level of annoyed as she always did. “What?! It takes two to tango, Chi-Chi!” Bulma said, anger dripping from her tone. 

“He was such a good boy before _she_ came along!”

“What are you implying, you harpy?!” Vegeta barked, and for a second Goten was terrified he’d have to fight the man again. But Bulma shoved by him and Bulla ducked out of view just as things looked ready to explode.

Goten put himself between his mother and Bulma as they got dangerously close together, looking very much like they might rip each other apart. “H-hey, come on, mom! We’re both at fault here!” he tried to reason. “And we’re not kids, you know? We’re adults, we can figure this out ourselves!”

“You heard me just fine! I don’t want my son winding up an unmarried parent!” Chi-Chi said, ignoring Goten entirely.

“Well, maybe I don’t want _my daughter_ marrying someone whose mother is such an insufferable old hag!” Bulma countered. Really, it probably wouldn’t have taken a lot to push them apart, but Goten was too afraid to incur either of their wraths onto himself. Still, he did his best to keep them apart even as they tried to push past him. 

“Mom! Bulma! Seriously! Bulla and I are _adults_ , we’re the ones who need to figure this out, not you guys!” he tried again. “Maybe we should take a breath and calm down before we—”

“Be quiet, Goten!”

“Don’t you tell my son to be quiet!”

“You’re right — I should be telling _you_ that!”

It was no use. Goten continued to keep them apart at arm’s length, but the yelling wasn’t likely to stop anytime soon. As busy as he was with them, however, he didn’t miss the fact that Bulla’s ki drastically changed very suddenly. The feeling was followed by an explosion down the street, causing all of them to come to a halt. Vegeta moved first, and Goten went after him, leaving Bulma and Chi-Chi behind.

The closer they got, the louder the sound of panicked voices became. They rounded the corner to find Bulla sitting on the street, breathing heavily and holding her hands up. There was a small crowd of people around that dispersed when they saw Goten. Not far from her was a smoldering pile of concrete and rubble that Goten recognized had once been a building. Above that, Tollash hovered with her arms held up in front of her. 

“What the hell happened?!” Vegeta demanded, walking toward Bulla. She seemed dazed, but when he got too close, she moved away from him.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” she warned. Vegeta stopped and immediately glared up at Tollash, who slowly descended and landed a safe distance away from the both of them. Goten’s fists balled at his sides as he watched her, his heart pounding in his chest. If she’d tried to hurt Bulla again, there was no way even Vegeta could stop him.

“I only tried to escort her back to the ship,” Tollash said curtly. “The king expects our return by the end of the day, my prince. We cannot afford to waste time here.”

“The king will wait as long as I want him to,” Vegeta said. “Leave us.”

“But Your Highness—”

“ _Now._ ”

Tollash blanched at the threatening tone in his voice but left all the same. It wasn’t until she was out of sight that Bulla seemed to allow herself to deflate slightly, her shoulders sagging as she hunched forward and threw up. Goten went to her side in a flash, unable to just stand there uselessly. He had a million and one questions going through his mind, and a variety of emotions raging in him, yet all he could think about was how her ki — no, _their_ ki — was going nuts again. It was like both of them were in distress, and he had no idea how to fix it. All he could think to do was put a hand on the middle of her back and keep it there. She didn’t shrug him off.

Once she was done retching, Vegeta spoke again. “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

Goten helped Bulla to her feet. “I’ll get her back to her house,” he said. 

“No, you won’t,” Vegeta said. “We’re heading for the ship.”

Goten paused, then glanced around to make sure no one was around to hear them. “I thought...I thought you wanted us to keep away.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed, far more dangerous than he’d ever seen, and Goten recoiled on instinct. “We don’t have a choice now, do we?” he snarled. Goten swallowed hard, his throat feeling rather dry all of a sudden, and he nodded. They walked for a bit before Bulla came to a halt and pushed away from him. 

“I need to...” she started, though she trailed off as she headed for a trashcan. Ever since he’d first noticed it, he couldn’t _stop_ focusing on the extra ki she had with her. Something seemed off, and the feeling nagged at him. 

“Is that...normal?” Goten asked Vegeta, momentarily forgetting about the waves of pure anger radiating off the man. He was quickly reminded.

“I don’t know. And shut up,” Vegeta said. 

They continued on in silence, with Bulla refusing to speak to either of them the entire way. She was quick to rebuff Bulma as the woman tried to approach her, and scowled at everyone who even thought to look her way. Goten just tried to stay out of the way, which proved difficult as his mother was still on a tirade of her own.

It wasn’t long before the round Saiyan appeared again. “My prince, we have to leave.” The look Vegeta shot him would have turned Goten’s blood to ice, but the Saiyan didn’t so much as flinch. Vegeta glanced back at him and Bulla.

“Fine. It’s time to leave,” he said. “Come on, Goten, Bulla.”

“Where are we going?” Goten asked, frowning slightly and looking to the door his mother had disappeared through. She’d gone back inside, but kami knew how long she’d be gone. 

“Central City,” Bulma replied. There was something rigid in the way she spoke, and how she glanced toward the Saiyans from the corner of her eye. She leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “We should go before your mom comes back.”

“What? She’s not coming with us?” he said, although he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at the idea.

“Of course not, Goten, you know she’d hate every second of it,” Bulma whispered. “Now let’s go before she realizes you’re leaving.” 

Goten struggled with that. He wasn’t the sort to just up and abandon people, least of all his own mother. After everything they’d been through, and now with the news about Bulla’s pregnancy...then again, Bulla was already in the ship. And he couldn’t just ignore that nagging feeling he had that something was _wrong_ every time he focused on her ki. Rationally he knew she was going to be with her parents, that the likelihood that they’d let anything happen to her was slim at worst. Still, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself if he let her go without him. He had to take responsibility, after all.

He boarded the ship before he could change his mind, and did his best to pretend he didn’t hear his mother’s voice. Goten wanted to believe he was doing the right thing, that leaving without saying anything really was for the best. His mom would have argued too much, would have forbidden him from going, and the whole thing just would have gotten messier. He loved Bulla, and her being pregnant _was_ his doing. It was kind of his fault he hadn’t thought about what the senzu beans could do, and he wasn’t the one throwing up every time he turned around. Though, kami...the reality of it was still too hard to swallow. Way too much happened way too fast in the last two days that none of it even felt real yet. 

But underneath all of the worries he had about Bulla, he had a hard time shaking the sense of dread he felt deep in his stomach. He kept looking at Tollash, eyeing her with suspicion. He hadn’t forgotten what they’d heard when they last met. This so-called truth they didn’t want Vegeta knowing...it had to be something important, otherwise, she wouldn’t keep meeting his gaze with a glare of her own. For now, there wasn’t much he could do. He’d have to find a way to talk to Vegeta without Tollash being nearby, so until then Goten would act like he was just along for the ride.

Bulla’s head rested against his shoulder and pulled him from his thoughts. He felt his cheeks warm slightly when both Bulma and Vegeta cast separate glances at them. At the very least, if he was walking into the viper’s nest, at least he knew he wasn’t alone. Whatever happened from here on out, he’d make sure he was ready for it.


	48. Better Off Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning, I have had a nasty cold all week. This chapter was written mostly on mobile, while I was lying down, and super, super dosed up on DayQuil. Apologies for any issues, please feel free to point out any inconsistencies or errors in this chapter. Thanks, all.

“What did I do wrong?” Bulma muttered to herself, probably for the thousandth time. She was bent over her workstation, pouring over her notes and scribbles as she tried to piece together the puzzle she’d gotten so, so wrong. Vegeta had gotten her lab back with very little incident — well, at the very least, she didn’t _see_ what he did to the Saiyans who’d taken her away from it. Not that she could bring herself to care. If they’d just left her alone, left her to figure this all out, then maybe...maybe...

Tears stung her eyes again and she took in a deep, shuddering breath. There was no need to grieve, she firmly reminded herself, because Trunks was _not_ dead. He was just somewhere else, and it was only a matter of going to get him. Just like they were going to go get Goku. She furiously wiped at her eyes, then continued tightening the screws on her device. Her mind went back to the one Charlotte had. She’d gotten a pretty good look at it, despite how chaotic it had been. The one she was working on right now didn’t quite look the same, but she understood the basics.

Charlotte. That girl was definitely from the future, there was no doubt about it. She was definitely a Son, that much was obvious, and her reaction upon realizing she’d wasn’t able to save Trunks left Bulma fairly certain of who her parents must have been. All it took was the news that Bulla was pregnant with Goten’s child for her to realize her suspicions were most likely correct.

Oh, boy...yeah, _that._  

Part of her was happy at the idea. Why wouldn’t she be? She was going to be a grandmother, and that by itself was cause for celebration. The other part was equal parts terrified and worried. The future didn’t appear very kind to Charlotte, given how many scars she had and the prosthetic arm. She was still just a kid, and yet she looked like she’d been through countless battles. What kind of future was waiting for them? And why wouldn’t she just tell them as Trunks had?

Her worries only worsened when she thought about it for too long. It didn’t help that Bulla was even more withdrawn than usual; the moment they’d boarded the main ship and she’d been shown her room, she separated from all three of them and Bulma hadn’t seen her since. It’d been nearly a week already, and it seemed like that wasn’t going to change. Still, knowing her daughter was nearby and, for all intents and purposes, safe was enough to offer her some relief. Even if she knew that it wasn’t really a _good_ thing that both Goten and Bulla were within the Saiyans’ grasp. Vegeta had been in a worse than usual mood because of it, and he kept busy working to both undermine and assist in the Saiyans’ search for Gohan. 

The knock at her door drew her attention from her work, and she looked up in time to see Goten step through. The poor kid looked ragged, and she could only assume he’d just finished another round of training. For every one Saiyan that had casually challenged Trunks to a fight, there were at least ten who did the same to Goten. Honestly, she hadn’t fully appreciated just how much ‘class’ meant to these guys until she heard the way they talked to him. It certainly didn’t help that Vegeta’s irritation was so obvious that they all took it as permission to rough house with him.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said. “You look...terrible.”

He dropped down into a chair near the wall and offered her a half-smile. “Thanks, Bulma.”

She leaned back to stretch, then rested her hands on the top of her head. He really did look quite a lot like his father, especially since his hair was getting a bit longer and starting to spike out the way Goku’s tended to. She wondered briefly if now was a good time to mention his grandparents. She’d intentionally waited until the time was right, when things were a little calmer and, ideally, he was more settled. So much had been thrown at him so fast that she genuinely worried he was getting overwhelmed.

“You wanna help me with something real quick?” she said. The nod he gave wasn’t as enthusiastic as she’d hoped, but he stood and walked over to her when she motioned for him. “Just tighten these screws as much as you can without stripping them, okay?”

“What is this, anyway?” he asked as he complied. 

“Well, I’m hoping it’ll let us detect those rifts out there, and maybe even control them,” she said. 

“Control them?” he said. He finished tightening the screws and then carefully handed it back to her. “What do you mean? Is that even possible?”

“It has to be,” she said firmly. He gave her a curious glance and she corrected her tone. “I’ve seen it done before, I mean.”

“Gohan’s somewhere invest—”

“ _Shh_ , Goten!” she hissed, lowering her voice. “No one has any idea where Gohan is, and if they think you do...”

“Right, sorry,” he said, sighing. “I guess I forgot.”

His shoulders sagged and he frowned deeply to himself. Of course, she’d noticed that Goten had been understandably pretty withdrawn himself. Bulma knew it was unfair for them to make him leave his mother behind, just like she knew it was unfair to hide the truth of the reason for him even being there in the first place. At the time, it seemed like a good idea to imply he had to go because of Bulla. But now it just felt...cruel. How desperate was she to see her children again that she was willing to trick someone as kind-hearted as Goten?

“You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you since we got here,” she began, doing her best to sound more upbeat than she really felt. “It’s a little complicated to explain, but your dad’s parents are here. Sort of — I mean, they’re technically alternate versions of them, but the same basic concept applies.” Goten blinked slowly at her, obviously confused by what she was implying. “What I’m trying to say is your grandparents are here! I’m sure they’d like to meet you!”

Goten didn’t answer right away; rather, he seemed mildly baffled, as if what she said hadn’t quite registered. Then, to her relief, a smile broke out across his face. “Wow, seriously? Dad’s parents...what a trip. That’d be a real eye-opener, huh?”

“You bet! Here, I’ll go see if I can find your grandma. She’s probably still on the ship,” she said. She stood and headed for the door, poking her head out long enough to address the guard, Aspara, outside. “Go find Gine for me, would you?”

“I’m not an errand boy,” Aspara grunted.

“Then _find_ an errand boy and tell _him_ to go find Gine,” she said, irritably. “Otherwise I’ll just go do it myself.”

Aspara gave her a disgruntled look before he waved down a passing Saiyan. Satisfied with her success, Bulma returned to her seat to find Goten looking amused. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing! I mean, you really adjusted to this place pretty well, huh?” he said.

“It was either that or drive myself crazy having to wait for Vegeta every time I want something done,” said Bulma with a huff. “These Saiyans...don’t let them bully you, okay? They won’t risk making Vegeta angry by actually hurting you.”

There was a slight flush to his cheeks when she spoke, and he nodded. “I just don’t get why they always want to fight me.”

“They’ve probably heard stories about your dad by now. They did the same thing to…” she trailed off and bit down on her lip. Thinking about Trunks made her chest feel tight with grief, and she had to take in a quick breath. “Nevermind! Just try to avoid getting caught up in anything they try to involve you in, okay? The king is—”

Another knock on the door interrupted her, though perhaps that was for the best. It was reckless of her to nearly say something so dangerous as though there weren’t at least a dozen ears on her at all times. Gine waited on the other side, and when Bulma ushered her in, the Saiyan woman came to a dead halt. Her mouth opened slightly as she stared at Goten.

“Gine, this is Goku’s — oh sorry, _Kakarot’s_ youngest,” she said. Goten stood from his seat gave a deep bow.

“I’m Goten! Pleased to meet you, er...grandmother?” Goten said, glancing at Bulma uncertainly.

“You look so much like…” Gine began, then shook her head. “Are you a warrior too?”

“Uh...sort of, I guess,” he said, standing up straight again. 

Although Bulma smiled wide at the pair of them, she couldn’t shake the sorrow that settled itself inside of her. Bringing a grandson to meet his grandmother was touching, and she was glad to do it, but her mind was too focused on Trunks to truly appreciate it for what it was. Her heart ached for her son, and she realized just how badly she missed her daughter at that moment. No matter how much Bulla wanted to hate her, Bulma suddenly knew she couldn’t stand to be kept at arm’s length for much longer. She needed to see her child, needed to at least see with her own eyes that she was alright.

“I’m going to go check on Bulla while you two talk,” she said. “I’d say you could stay here to talk, but my lab’s probably not the safest or the cleanest place.”

The two agreed, and all three left the lab shortly after. Bulma watched as Gine led Goten off down the hallway before she made her way for Bulla’s room. Her chambers weren’t too far away from theirs, which was likely Vegeta’s doing. But rather than the one guard Bulma was assigned, there were two standing on either side of Bulla’s door, and a third directly across from it. All three of them regarded her with icy courtesy, and she quickly realized that these men were the same three she’d seen with the king before.

 _Either they’re afraid Bulla’s going to run off, or they’re actually meant to keep her safe,_ she thought. It might have been comforting if not for the fact it certainly meant the king’s ears were much closer than she’d like. She wondered if the same arrangements had been made for Trunks.

Before she entered the room, she was fairly sure of what she’d find: Bulla sulking, grumping about one thing or another and ready to accost her with a vicious glare. Instead, she found her standing in front of a window with a Saiyan woman at her side. The room itself was only slightly smaller than the one she and Vegeta had. There was enough room for a small table with two chairs on either side of it, and a chaise lounge chair not far from that. The bed was large and sat on a raised platform, adorned with crimson and black pillows and blankets. Bulla glanced back at Bulma and sighed, turning her attention back to the woman.

“Come back with his answer,” she instructed, handing what looked like a rolled-up piece of paper to the woman. The Saiyan bowed and excused herself to exit the room quickly. Once the door was shut, Bulma crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Can I help you?” Bulla asked, stepping away from the window. She walked to a table with several bowls of fruits and nuts sitting on it, then began to casually snack.

“I see you’ve settled in nicely,” Bulma said. “Sure would have been nice to see you sooner.”

“I was busy. What do you want?” Bulla said. She nearly sounded bored, as though her mother’s mere presence was boring to her. Then again, Bulma probably should have expected this by now. Much as she’d hoped distance would have made her heart grow fonder, that obviously wasn’t the case. Now that she was pregnant and hormonal, Bulma imagined she was only going to be that much more difficult.

“I just wanted to talk to you, see how you were doing,” Bulma said. “Your father and I have been worried about you.” When Bulla didn’t answer or acknowledge that, she pressed on. “I know how hard pregnancy is, you know. Especially with Saiyan babies. Have you been eating enough? I was such a pig both times I was pregnant.”

Bulla kept her back to Bulma, though she’d stopped eating. After several beats of silence, during which Bulma was _sure_ her daughter was thoroughly annoyed with her already, she finally turned and leaned back against the table, partially sitting on it. “My...my chest hurts. And I feel weak.”

“Oh!” Bulma started, taken by surprise with Bulla’s apparent willingness to talk. “Well, your baby’s gonna need to eat, right? Your chest will probably keep hurting for a while, but you’ll get used to it. As for feeling weak, you might just be tired.”

“I’m not just tired. I feel physically weaker than before,” Bulla said. Her arms folded beneath her chest.

“Hm...well, It takes a lot of work to grow a baby. I’m guessing your body’s probably focused on that,” Bulma said, thoughtfully. “But we could always see if the doctors here have a better idea of what’s going on. Honestly, I’m not sure if Saiyan pregnancies are different from human ones.”

Her daughter regarded her for a moment, then pushed away from the table to sit at the chair. Bulma sat across from her, eager to draw out whatever good luck she was having as long as possible.

“Any weird cravings yet?” Bulma asked. 

“Ginger tea. It’s disgusting,” Bulla answered resentfully. “But it’s the only thing I can drink that isn’t water that won’t make me throw up. Problem is, Goten can’t make it. No one here has any idea what _tea_ is.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure we could ask someone to find some. I’m willing to bet at least some stores are still standing down there,” Bulma said. Central City wasn’t on fire anymore, but it did seem a bit bleaker with a massive Saiyan ship hovering over it. Still, there was likely a store or two around somewhere.

Bulla shook her head. “No, Goten has to be the one who makes it.”

A smile spread across Bulma’s lips, and she brought a hand up to the side of her face. Honestly, Vegeta could be as annoyed as he wanted to be, but she was genuinely happy that Bulla and Goten were together. He was such a sweet kid, and she liked to think it was his influence that made this interaction between her and her daughter possible. Maybe he really was rubbing off on her, helping to chip away at that wall Bulla was so determined to keep up. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part. Either way, she wouldn’t squander the opportunity to bond with her daughter.

“Are you excited?” Bulma asked, a bit dreamily.

Bulla gave her a puzzled look. “About what?”

“You know! The baby? I was so excited when I found out I was pregnant. Though I have to admit, it wasn’t easy. Your dad and I weren’t really—”

“Not really,” Bulla said, interrupting Bulma. The bluntness in her tone took Bulma aback, and for a few seconds, she wasn’t sure she’d heard her correctly.

“I...what?” Bulma said, disappointed. “Really? Not even a little bit?”

Her daughter’s expression remained placid, but Bulma caught the way her eyes fell to a bowl in front of her. “There’s no reason to be _excited_. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not after what Frieza did.”

“What Frieza did?” Bulma repeated. Her throat felt tight at the mention of his name, and a terrible feeling settled in her gut. But Bulla gave a sharp scoff and shot her a withering look.

“You really don’t _know_?” Bulla said, incredulous. “I overestimated how much you mattered to him, I guess.” She leaned back in her seat, one leg crossing over the other as though she was having a casual conversation about the weather and not a genocidal maniac. “Frieza had us both sterilized a long time ago. It wasn’t like either of us were going to use our bodies for anything else, anyway.”

Of all the things she’d known about, either from personal experience or from hearing about it later, Frieza’s fixation on her children never truly ceased to horrify her. And the things she learned every time she spent with Bulla were enough to chill her to the bone. The blasé way that Bulla said it certainly did her no favors either, and she watched blankly as her daughter began to pick at an orange in front of her.

“Right now, all it does is make me feel sick and weak,” Bulla continued. “I mean, I...never really thought it was possible, so I never put much thought into it until now. But I guess I sort of...” 

Bulma wanted to reach over the table and take Bulla’s hand. She wanted to reassure her that her parents were there, that they both loved her, and that they’d take care of her. But she knew better than to do more than idly fantasize about that — and whatever vulnerability Bulla had felt just now while she’d started to open up, it had disappeared within the few seconds after she’d trailed off.

It seemed their conversation was over. Bulla slowly stood from her chair and looked at Bulma expectantly. “I’m sure you have a lot of work to get back to,” she said, mildly.

Bulma wasn’t an idiot. She knew that was Bulla’s way of getting rid of her and under normal circumstances, she would have argued with her. There was still so much she wanted to talk about — she wasn’t sure if Bulla even knew that Trunks was gone, and it ached not being able to talk about it to anyone. Vegeta’s absence made her feel more alone than ever. But theirs was a delicate relationship and right now the last thing she wanted to do was stress her out.

It wasn’t until she was leaving that she noticed the same Saiyan woman from earlier was waiting right outside. The moment she stepped out, that woman stepped in and the door shut before she could turn back around.

 _That was strange,_ she thought. _Did Bulla...time that? What is that girl up to?_

She knew she wasn’t going to get any answers anytime soon. Bulma returned to her lab to continue her work well into the evening. The rift detector was almost done, and after some modifying, she was sure it was safe enough to begin testing soon. As the night wore on, she realized just how tired she was. Her back hurt, her legs felt numb, and her fingers were beginning to shake a little, which usually meant she’d finally hit her limit for the time being. She sat there in silence for a moment, staring out into the night with her chin resting in her hand. But the black only reminded her of the rift, and her mind inevitably went to her son. He’d looked so afraid, and she’d been so stupid to mess with something she only knew a little bit about.

Bulma shook her head before the tears came again. What was she thinking? She couldn’t go to sleep _now_ , not when there was so much more work to be done. She cracked her knuckles and stretched her arms up above her head before returning to work. Just a few more modifications, just to make sure she wouldn’t mess up again, and she’d be done.

An hour later, she swore she just laid her head down for a second and when she sat back up, she was in a bed. It took her a few seconds to realize where she was. Judging by how dark the room was, she assumed it must have still been nighttime.

 _Huh...how’d I get here?_ Bulma thought idly. But the sound of light snoring beside her gave her the answer. Vegeta was asleep on his side, his bare back facing her. His breathing was slow and steady, and when she carefully leaned over to look at his face, he looked more relaxed than she’d seen him in months. Then again, she hadn’t really seen him very much in months.

That realization hit her harder than she expected. It was silly, really — she’d spent years without him. Why a couple of months would matter so much made no sense and _yet_ there she was, crying over her husband’s sleeping face. She used to daydream about having her husband back all the time; her mind would fill with dreams of getting rid of Frieza, saving everyone, and having her family back. She’d been so preoccupied with her own hopes that she hadn’t even realized how much her children had changed until it was too late. And ever since he came back, things only seemed to have gotten worse. The Saiyans, Almone, Bulla, and...Trunks.

Bulma turned over to her side, doing her best to stifle her cries. Her heart hurt, her head hurt, everything just hurt. Without her desk in front of her, she had nothing to distract herself with, especially since sleep decided it was done with her. She couldn’t stop thinking about her son, or the fear in his eyes. Death had always been a part of their lives for as long as she could remember. It just came with the territory of Saiyan warriors, gods, monsters and magical dragon balls that grant wishes. But it never got easier, no matter how many times she lived through the devastation.

The bed moved slightly and she held her breath, silently praying she hadn’t accidentally woken Vegeta up. When his arm went around her, she wanted to kick herself for being so loud. He muttered her name under his breath, and she glanced back over her shoulder to apologize but saw that his eyes were still closed and his breathing hadn’t changed much. 

 _He’s still asleep,_ she realized. She rested her hand over his and he pulled her closer against him, his face nuzzling into the back of her neck. Vegeta had never really been much for cuddling per se, but in those rare times when he would indulge her, she always suspected he enjoyed it more than he ever let on. Bulma tried to stay awake so she could enjoy the warmth of his body pressed against her, though it didn’t take long before weariness finally won out.

She woke with a start. The sound of an alarm ringing through the room sent her mind into a panic. Her door opened just as she was sitting up, with Goten and Aspara rushing inside. “What’s going on?!” Bulma said.

Goten was at her side, “We have to go! One of those rift things opened up and a bunch of  _things_ came through!”

Bulma scrambled out of bed and followed them out into the hallway, into a stream of chaos and confused yells. “Where’s Bulla?” she said.

“With Vegeta,” Goten said.

“Good! Come on!” Bulma called as she ran down the hall.

“W-wait, Bulma!” Goten said, following after her. She ignored his protests, choosing instead to focus on hurrying to her lab. The sounds of fighting and yelling were getting closer, but she couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. Not again, not when she was so close to fixing everything. Her heart dropped when she saw the door to her lab had been crushed in the middle, preventing it from opening automatically.

“No! No, no, no!” she yelled. Her hands had barely touched the broken metal before Goten gently pushed her aside.

“Stand back!” he said, and a second later the door erupted into a hundred little pieces. He helped her step over it and she hurried to the table to scoop up her device.

“I just have to activate it,” she explained. “It might take a second to—”

Aspara’s pained cry was stopped short by a sickening crunch, and her head jerked up to see him crumpled on the ground. A very tall, very large man shrouded in some kind of purple aura stood in the doorway, giggling like an idiot. 

“That wasn’t much of a challenge! You there, pipsqueak!” he said, pointing at Goten. “Don’t disappoint me!”

“What the...Bulma! Get that thing and let’s go!” Goten said. The big guy charged Goten, but Bulma turned her attention to her device. She couldn’t risk getting any calculations wrong again, not after coming so far like this. When the screen lit up to indicate it was at full power, she looked up in time to see that the big guy had Goten by the ankle. He swung Goten around like a ragdoll and slammed him against the wall.

“G-Goten!” she yelled. But Goten bounced right back, sending a blast right into the guy’s face and blinding him. 

“Bulma, go!” Goten shouted. She didn’t have to be told twice; she practically dove through the door to get away just as the big one regained his footing. Goten was beside her for a moment before he reached over to pick her up and carry her instead. She hugged the device close to her chest and looked back over Goten’s shoulder. The black and purple tendrils were back, climbing over the walls. That big guy came stumbling out of her lab to give chase.

“Hey, no fair! Don’t think I’ll let you just get away!” he yelled. Goten made a sharp turn through another door, shielding Bulma’s head as he blasted through it. She caught sight of an open door ahead, one that led to the outside, but yelped when both she and Goten were stopped short. The guy had Goten by the leg again, and the latter just barely managed to drop Bulma before he was yanked backward into a fist. Bulma jumped to her feet and headed for the door, though she paused there to look back. The creeping darkness was getting closer, and she realized too late that she hadn’t warned Goten of its presence.

“Goten, wait!” she yelled, but the golden aura had already surrounded him. A second later it was gone, and the momentary shock of stolen power provided enough of an opening for the big guy to hit him again. But she didn’t have much time to react; Vegeta abruptly appeared in front of her, grabbed her, and they shot out of the ship to the ground below. 

“Vegeta! Goten’s up there and—” she began, but he cut her off.

“I know, damn it!” With that, he was gone again, back up to the ship. From where she was, she could see the rift hovering just above them. It was large enough to nearly blot out the sunlight, growing slightly bigger with every rumble that shook the ground underneath her. 

 _I can stop it,_ she thought, clutching the device tighter in her hands. _I can get rid of it before it takes anyone else._ Yet even as she thought that, she hesitated. All she could think about were her son’s eyes, and how she’d failed him so utterly and completely that it made her sick. She was Bulma Briefs. She never failed, especially when it came to tech. But her fingers trembled against the metal casing as her mind reeled, and it wasn’t until two people slammed into the concrete road in front of her that she was pulled from her thoughts.

“This is getting _annoying_ ,” Vegeta said as he rose from the newly formed crater. “Give it up already, Jeice.” Another man followed, far different from the one Goten was fighting. He had long white hair and reddish toned skin, and he fell into the strangest stance Bulma had seen in years. She hurried out of the way as they fought, turning her attention back to the device and willing herself to begin calibration. All she had to do was focus, she told herself. It wouldn’t be like last time.

That obnoxious laughter returned, forcing her attention back toward the sky at the two still fighting near the ship. The big guy had Goten by the leg again, though this time he flung him closer to the ship — closer to the rift. He barely managed to grab the side of the doorway to stop himself, but the rift’s pull put a clear strain on him.

Bulma didn’t even realize Bulla was nearby until she ran right by her. She hurried after her and caught her by the wrist before she took off. “Bulla, no! If you get too close it’ll get you too,” she pleaded. Bulla wrenched away from her without so much as a second thought. “ _Please!_ Think of your baby!” 

“I’m not leaving him!” she snapped. It was obvious that Bulla wasn’t willing to listen to her when she shot into the air, and for a moment Bulma was sure her heart stopped. It started again when Vegeta caught her in midair, holding her in place even as she fought against him. Bulma felt helpless as she watched Goten continue to struggle, and when the big guy went for another hit, she looked down at her device. _I can do this,_ she told herself. 

“Recoome!” Her eyes snapped back open in time to see Bardock collide with the big guy.

“Aw, I thought Frieza took all you guys out!” Recoome complained. “Guess I’ll have to finish the job!” They began to fight, but Bulma didn’t have time to waste.

 _I can do this_ , she told herself again as she looked back down. _Just a few more seconds._ Vegeta landed nearby, barked a few orders, and left Bulla with two Saiyans before he was back up in the sky. _Come on, Bulma, this is child’s play quantum physics!_ A flash of light later and the Saiyans that had Bulla dropped to the ground. _Come on, come on, come on!_

The screen flashed and she held her breath as she initiated the sequence. Suddenly, the rumbling stopped and she heard a yell. She looked up to see Bardock holding the side of the doorway with one hand, yelling as he strained against the sheer force of the rift trying to pull both he and Goten in. Vegeta had caught Bulla again, keeping her back away from the ship. She couldn’t tell where that Recoome guy had gone, or the other guy with red skin, but a moment later and the rift began to recede slowly. She didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath until it had completely vanished and she gasped for air. 

Bulma watched in a semi-daze as things slowly began to unfold. Vegeta released Bulla, who rushed follow Bardock bringing the half-conscious Goten down to the ground. She watched as her daughter sat beside him, then when he shook himself and assured her he was okay, she threw her arms around him and they held one another for a long moment. 

“Your device worked,” her husband’s voice drew her attention away. Bulma looked down at it and nodded, still unsure if she believed it herself. But of course it did. It worked because she _knew_ it would work. Whatever doubts she had, she didn’t need to have them anymore. It worked, and she was right the whole time.

“Bulma,” Goten said, approaching her with a slight limp to his steps. “I saw something — I was...the rift, that thing, I was in it.” The closer he got, the more frazzled he appeared. Bardock and Bulla followed close behind, and Bulla was quick to steady when he stumbled.

“What do you mean? You were _in_ the rift? And you didn’t...?” Bulma started, her brow furrowing. 

“I had hold of him before it took him. Nearly went with him myself,” Bardock added. “I didn’t see anything, though. Might be his brain’s scrambled up from the beating he took.”

“My brain’s _not_ scrambled,” Goten argued. “Bulma, you have to believe me — I know what I saw! It was a place, like a...like a giant room full of nothing, but it was...there were things there. It’s...it’s hard to explain. They looked like crystals, and I could see places, _other places_ , and I saw my dad. But he was different — he said...he said...he said something!”

“Goten, slow down,” Bulla said.

“I _can’t_ ,” he insisted. “Damn it, I can’t remember what he said!”

Bulma reached out to put a hand on his arm. She could feel him shaking. “Calm down, it’s okay. Just take a deep breath.”

He did as she said, and after a few deep breaths, he composed himself enough to speak again. “Frieza. It was about Frieza. He said...he said Frieza was coming back.”


	49. Vox Nihili

Kakarot. So he _was_ alive after all, if the boy’s word was to be believed. Then again, he hadn’t been making any sense since Bardock pulled him out of the rift. Usually, his babbling had some semblance of coherence, not that Vegeta ever really listened to it before anyway, but right now he just kept saying the same things over and over in different order. He saw his father, Frieza was coming back, they had to stop it. It could have been nonsense. It could have been a hallucination. Regardless, the mere thought of Frieza returning was enough to put them all on edge. Bulma insisted they get Goten to the medical bay as soon as they’d determined the ship was safe again. She’d gone back to her lab to study the readings she’d grabbed from the rift, while Vegeta remained behind.

As he watched the doctor move about the room and Goten sway in place where he sat, Vegeta could nearly forget that he was still utterly furious with the brat. Having a relationship with his daughter behind their backs was bad enough, but to have gotten her pregnant? _Now?_ It was like Goten was begging him to kick his ass six ways to Wednesday, or however that stupid saying went. There was far too much going on for any of them to be distracted, and a baby was certainly not the kind of distraction they needed right now. How the hell was he going to prepare Bulla for a fight if she _couldn’t fight?_

But for all his anger and resentment, it wasn’t like he wanted the little shit  _dead_. Ass thoroughly kicked, sure, but not dead. He waited near the door, eyeing the doctor as he examined Goten. Bulla stood nearby, leaning against the wall and staring straight ahead. He could sense her anxiety from where he was, even if she was doing her best to hide it. 

“Concussion. A nasty one at that,” Avoca said. “Look left. No, _left_. Oh, nevermind.” He was a tall, wiry man with short-cropped jet black hair and a patchy beard. With bony fingers and sharp features, he resembled a skeleton more than a living person. His nose was long and hooked, and when he leaned in to inspect Goten closer, he tilted his chin down to look over a pair of small, round glasses. “For a half-breed, he’s durable. Imagine an average earthling’s skull would’ve caved in. Would certainly explain the delusions.”

“I’m _not_ delusional,” Goten argued, though his words were slurred. “I _know_ what I saw.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Bulla said. She pushed away from the wall and folded her arms under her chest, hugging herself lightly. “Honestly, what are the chances you’d happen to see your dad?”

“I wouldn’t make something like that up,” he insisted again.

Bulla didn’t seem fazed. “I didn’t say you were making it up, I just—” 

“I know what I saw,” Goten said again, firmly this time. “I’m not an idiot. I’d notice if that wasn’t really my dad but it _was._ And he said Frieza was coming back, I know he did.”

Vegeta cast a glance at Bulla from the corner of his eye. It was easy for him to read the distress radiating off of her, but Goten was either too shaken to notice or too stupid to realize what it meant. Avoca cleared his throat and addressed Vegeta.

“Rest is the only thing I suggest. Beyond that, I’m sure Your Highness can determine what to do with these...ah, revelations of his,” he said.

“I’m not tired,” Goten complained. He started to slide off the table, but Avoca put a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him back. For such a thin man, he had no trouble keeping the boy back. “We have to stop him from coming back!”

“Oh do we, Goten?” Vegeta said, irritably. “How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Well, I...I don’t...” he began, but trailed off. 

Vegeta crossed his arms. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “You’re clearly in no shape to be doing anything useful right now anyway.”

“We can go get my dad!” Goten suddenly blurted out. “Bulma...that thing she made! Maybe it had something to do with keeping me here! If I went in and came back then we could probably do it again, right? We can get my dad! If anyone can stop Frieza it’s him and— _oh_.”

Goten’s rambling came to an abrupt stop, and he slumped back onto the table, completely unconscious. Avoca used the front of Goten’s shirt to catch and lower him slowly, then calmly replaced the cap on his syringe and set it down on the tray beside him.

“He’ll wake up in a few hours,” he said. A low groan escaped Goten and Avoca glanced at him, then shrugged. “Or maybe a couple of days. No idea how it’ll affect half-breeds, honestly. It will be quite fascinating to see.”

Bulla crossed the room and stopped at Goten’s side, looking down at him for a long moment before she settled on the table beside him. Vegeta watched her carefully; her outburst earlier had clearly left her drained judging by how pale she was, and when he focused on hers and, well, _its_ ki, he could tell she was far more exhausted than she let on. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting too?” he said. She barely acknowledged him, let alone gave him an answer. “Bulla.”

She let out an indignant scoff. “You can leave if you want to, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“For the best,” Avoca said plainly. “I should examine you as well.” He moved to a set of cabinets on the other side of the room. Vegeta could see Bulla visibly tensed at his words.

“I don’t need—”

“You do,” Vegeta interrupted. “Don’t argue.”

For all the good _that_ did him. The scowl he earned was almost as devastating as the ones Bulma gave him sometimes. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. To emphasize her point, she shifted away from Avoca as he got closer. 

“All due respect, princess, but with your condition—” Avoca began, but he was swiftly cut off.

“I am well aware of my condition,” she snapped. “Go away. _Both_ of you.”

Avoca looked to Vegeta, but the prince’s attention was entirely on his daughter. He was sure her stubbornness would be the death of him one day, but while it may have worked to dissuade his wife, it certainly wasn’t going to work on _him_.

“How much energy have you borrowed from it so far?” The question seemed to stump her, not that she was willing to admit it, so he continued when she didn’t speak up. “You’re _weak_ , and getting weaker.”

She relented then, and only then, but she definitely wasn’t happy about it. It didn’t matter to him at that point. What mattered was that Avoca was able to examine her without issue. Vegeta remained where he was, watching Avoca’s every movement like a hawk as he moved a device over her. She seemed to relax when she realized the doctor wouldn’t be touching her, although she still leaned away when he got too close. A red light scanned over her as he moved it from her chest down to her thighs. It didn’t take long for Avoca to click his tongue and step aside to look over his findings.

“Hmm...couple of months along. Healthy, so far. Strong for so young,” Avoca said as he turned back toward them. “ _Very_ strong for so young. Fascinating. Truly, truly fascinating. Two half-breeds, huh? Who’d have thought?” He quickly remembered Vegeta was in the room and hurried to correct himself. “Of course, with the _princess’s_ genes, it’s hardly a surprise.”

“Spare us the groveling,” Vegeta said, annoyed. “Anything else?”

Avoca breathed a sigh of relief, then returned to his usual demeanor. “Safe to suggest the child will be powerful even before it’s born. As for the princess, it’s quite normal to feel weak,” he addressed Bulla now. “It’s taking power from you as you take power from it. The more you borrow, however, the more exhausted you’ll feel. A bit of training should help you feel stronger in no time.”

“Training?” Vegeta repeated, skeptically. 

The question seemed to confuse Avoca, but only briefly. “Apologies, my prince, often I forget you weren’t raised among us. I don’t know how earthlings behave during pregnancy, but most of our women remain active in their training. At least until they’re ready to give birth.”

“Satisfied?” Bulla said. “Now go away.”

Vegeta scowled. “Leave us, Avoca.” The doctor gave a curt nod and a quick bow before he left, and once he was gone, the prince regarded his daughter with a stern glare. “Are you _still_ acting like a spoiled brat?”

She shot him a look. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” she snapped. Bulla turned away from him almost immediately, her focus going right back to Goten. For a moment, neither of them spoke. In fact, Vegeta was fairly sure she’d elected to give him the silent treatment — not that he was surprised. Irritated, yes. But not surprised. Still, she was pregnant...with _Goten’s_ child, no less. Infuriating as that fact was, he begrudgingly admitted that it made sense for her to want to remain around the boy. He knew her instincts would only grow sharper over time, though what that meant for her ability to defend herself, Vegeta couldn’t say.

Vegeta pushed away from the wall and made for the door, then paused briefly to glance over his shoulder back at her. “Tell Goten to come and find me when he wakes up,” he said. “He’s gotten lazy again, and he’s no use to anyone if he keeps needing someone to save him.” He left her there, a small mercy he was willing to grant her for now. If she was anything like her mother, she’d remain steadfast in her silent treatment bit until finally exploding. It was usually better to just wait it out.

Thinking about Bulma led him to her lab, where he found his wife hunched over her work station. The sight wasn’t uncommon to him, especially lately, but a quick glance at the screen nearby told him she’d already gone through those readings she’d been eager to get to. She didn’t even look up when he entered.

“I thought you were finished with that,” he said. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Bulma nodded absently. “It did, but you heard what Goten said. If he was able to go in and come back, it got me thinking that maybe there _is_ a chance we could too.”

“Bardock had hold of him,” he pointed out. “He never went all the way in.”

“It doesn’t mean it’s not possible,” she said, undeterred. “If I can fine-tune this device to make sure it’s completely fool-proof, then we’d be more than halfway there!”

Vegeta wasn’t sure he necessarily liked the idea, though the optimism in her voice was nearly enough to convince him. Nearly. “Halfway _where_?”

“Halfway to saving Goku and Trunks,” Bulma answered. “I just need to test a few more things, develop the right tether system, and then we can do it. I know we can!”

It was at that moment that Vegeta realized it wasn’t _really_ optimism in her voice. It was determination; the sort of determination that only his wife had because when she put her mind to something, that was simply that. He’d known her long enough to understand that truth about her. There was no veering her off course, there was no discussion, no attempts at redirection, none of it. Bulma Briefs had an idea, and it wouldn’t be long before it took form.

Which was why he knew it was pointless to argue.

“How long until it’s finished?” he asked, deciding to shift his focus. 

Bulma paused only long enough to consider his question. “A week or two, give or take...honestly, coming up with a viable way to test it in relative safety is going to be the hardest part of this whole thing. I’ll definitely need to come up with a good guinea pig.”

“A _what_?” he repeated, though he was probably better off not knowing. She waved her hand and gave him a wide smile. 

“Don’t you worry about that! Just leave it to your gorgeous genius of a wife to figure out!” she said, cheerfully. Too cheerfully, if you asked him. But before he could do or say anything else, she abruptly set aside her device and moved to plant a kiss on his cheek. A scowl twisted his features and he jerked his head back, one hand going up to rub the offended skin.

“ _Hey_ , knock it off!” he said. “You know how much I hate that.”

“Oh, come on, Vegeta! There’s no one around,” she said, teasingly. Her arms slipped around his neck and she pressed herself against him, giggling lightly as she did. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell the other big bad Saiyans that you have a beautiful wife who loves you. I wouldn’t want anything to ruin your _image_.”

Vegeta scoffed. “I don’t care what they think, Bulma.”

“Sure you don’t,” she said. Her blue eyes remained on his for a moment, but slowly her expression changed. It was more somber, more serious than it had been before. “You know...we haven’t really had a chance to...to talk yet.”

That prompted a frown. Talking wasn’t his strong suit, she knew that, and he knew exactly what she wanted to discuss. “It won’t solve anything,” he said, keeping his tone even. 

“Yeah, but Vegeta, _our son_ is...he’s gone,” she said. It didn’t take much to pick up on the underlying hurt in her voice, and he bristled at it. “I can’t help thinking that if I’d done something differently…”

“There was nothing you could do,” he said firmly. He motioned toward the desk where her device sat, pieces of metal and tools surrounding it. “Your machine will work and we’ll get him back. I’ll go in there myself and—”

“No,” said Bulma curtly. “Absolutely not. If it doesn’t work, I don’t want to lose you too. I _can’t_ lose you, too.”

He might have argued or he might have thought to point out that if Kakarot could handle it then so could he. But, as per usual, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Vegeta glanced back to see a short woman with warm brown skin and black hair pulled tightly into a bun. She offered a deep bow and remained that way even as she spoke.

“Please forgive my intrusion,” she said, her voice thick with an accent Vegeta didn’t recognize. “The king requests your presence, my prince.” Something about her seemed strange to him; she wasn’t a Saiyan, that much was clear, although she did dress like many of the lower class ones did. 

“Of course he does,” Vegeta snarled. “He’s incapable of doing anything without me. What does he want?”

“I cannot say, my prince. I was only tasked to retrieve you,” she said.

Vegeta looked back to his wife and she gestured toward the door. “Better not keep the king waiting. I have to get back to work anyway,” she said. She turned away then, returning to her task as easily as though she’d never stopped at all. 

He arrived in the king’s chambers to the confirmation that it would be a fantastic waste of his time. The king was seated at the head, of course, with Tollash to his left. There were new faces now. Too many for his liking, considering how he only barely recognized them. Okara, a rotund woman with a crown of braids on her head; Negi, a balding general that made Nappa look short. Yet the final man was no one Vegeta recognized. He was so thin and lanky that you’d think he’d blow away in the wind, and a scientist if his clothing was anything to go by. A seat remained open to the king’s right, and Vegeta scowled at it as though it was responsible for the time he was about to waste.

“Ah, you’ve arrived,” the king said. All four began to stand, but the king stayed them with a wave of his hand. “You’ll find the prince isn’t fond of such displays.” The comment seemed to amuse Okara the most and she clapped her hands together. 

“How unconventional! Truly, the mark of a _forward-thinking_ prince,” she said. Her glee managed to prompt him into reluctantly going to his seat, his irritation already at an all-time high. The king waited until he was fully seated to speak again.

“Back to the matter at hand,” the king said. “Tollash. You have news?”

Tollash adjusted herself in her seat. “A portion of Frieza’s forces were found skulking near South City, waiting for further instruction from their remaining commanders. We eliminated them and took control of their communications.”

The king nodded approvingly, then glanced at Okara. She giggled and her cheeks turned pink. “What _delightful_ news! I too have some glad tidings to share with you all. We caught a few of Frieza’s forces just outside our very city and trapped them inside the nearby woods. They suffered such heavy losses, the poor things, but they were simply no match for our might. We’ve rounded up the survivors and, after a few conversations, we’ve learned that it seems as though their new commander has already been selected. He’s ordered all essential troops back to West City, and commanded that only a small number remain stationed in their current locations.”

“That’ll make it easier to crush them,” Tollash commented gruffly. “And Almone’s downfall proves a great victory for our king.”

 _What the hell did the king do?_ Vegeta thought sourly. He couldn’t ever recall seeing the man near a battle, let alone actually fight, and he certainly had nothing to do with Almone’s defeat. “Bulla is the reason Almone is dead,” he snapped, unable to keep from doing so. “You’d better remember that.”

Tollash hadn’t expected that. “Apologies, my prince. Of course, the princess is a force to be reckoned with herself. It was through her that the king’s victory was obtained.” Vegeta had half a mind to argue again, but Okara didn’t allow him to.

“Hm, still, we mustn’t underestimate them. Almone was impulsive and driven by her desperation to capture the princess,” Okara tutted. “Her mistakes led to her downfall, yet the bulk of Frieza’s forces remains. Commander Chigo is a careful, pragmatic leader by all accounts. His decision to return everyone to West City is not one made lightly.”

“No? Seems to me that if they’re all in one place, they’d be easier to put down,” Negi argued. “It would only take a single great ape to put an end to them.”

Vegeta couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Truthfully, he’d almost forgotten about the oozaru form. It seemed so primitive now, so insignificant in the face of the levels he had ascended to. He was so lost in thought for a moment that he almost didn’t notice the eyes that had fallen on him. 

“Have something to add, my son?” the king asked. Whatever amusement Vegeta felt vanished in an instant.

“No, nothing at all. I’d forgotten about the mighty oozaru form,” he said dryly. 

“ _Forgotten?_ ” Negi asked, taken aback. “How could you forget? It’s entirely why our people are the most feared warriors in the galaxy!”

“The prince lost his tail years ago,” the king said dismissively. “Yet still he’s managed to surpass any great ape with his base strength alone.”

“Y-yes,” Negi said. “Forgive me, my prince.”

Vegeta scoffed. “Groveling fools,” he muttered. “I’ve about had it.”

“In any case, destroying the city is not what I’m interested in. Tell me more about this Commander Chigo,” the king said, ignoring Vegeta. “Does he share the captain’s obsession with the princess?”

Okara gave a silky smile. “If he does, he’s in no hurry to reclaim her.”

“Very good. Place your agents carefully, Okara, and ensure that they continue to provide reports. When the time comes, we need to be able to take West City without destroying it,” said the king before he looked to the scientist who’d remained silent thus far. “Rottece, I believe what you have to report may be of some interest to the prince.”

“The only thing that interests me is getting this over with,” Vegeta said, impatiently. “We’re sitting here talking when we should be working.”

“I agree wholeheartedly with the prince,” Rottece said. His voice was smooth and measured, though higher pitched than Vegeta had expected. “Your Highness, I understand that your wife is working on a device that will allow us to manipulate the rifts. It would bring me great honor to offer my services.”

Vegeta didn’t know much about the things Bulma worked on, but he knew the only person she trusted with her projects was her father. Just looking at Rottece now, Vegeta wasn’t sure _he_ would trust him. His lithe frame betrayed a strength hidden behind his cold black eyes, and the bit of facial hair was trimmed in such a way to make his round face look more pointed than it really was.

“She doesn’t need your help,” he said brusquely.

“With all due respect, I’m afraid she does,” Rottece said. He held up his hand just as Vegeta’s was ready to snap. “Forgive me, my prince, I mean no disrespect. But I truly believe that my assistance would be incredibly beneficial to her work. You see, I’ve been studying the rifts in our own timeline as well, and I’ve collected a remarkable amount of data. I’m rather impressed that your wife managed to do nearly as much as I have in a fraction of the time.”

Pride swelled in his chest. Of course Bulma would succeed much quicker and much more efficiently than this idiot. “All that tells me is she definitely doesn’t need your help after all,” he said bluntly.

“Ah, so I assume she knows how to navigate the multidimensional timeline accurately, then?” he said. Vegeta wanted nothing more than to punch that smug smirk off his face. “If she is as smart as she is beautiful, I have no doubt she would eventually come to the same conclusions I did. Yet for the sake of time and your son, I should think our combined knowledge would speed up the process.”

Bringing up Trunks was the fastest way to spark Vegeta’s anger, especially when it came to yet another idiot thinking they could casually use his son against him. And if Rottece thought he would appreciate the compliment about his wife, he was sorely mistaken. He glowered darkly at the man as he rose to his feet. “Fine. Go to her. See if she can make use of you.”

“As you say, my prince,” Rottece said, bowing his head gracefully. 

“It seems our meeting is over,” the king said. With that, the others also stood at the king’s dismissal and began to make for the door. Vegeta stepped closer to Rottece as he gathered himself up.

“Hey, you,” he said. Rottece turned in time for Vegeta to snatch the front of his shirt and yanked him closer, smacking their foreheads together. It hardly fazed Vegeta, but Rottece let out a surprised and pained yelp. He shoved him back, and Rottece barely caught himself against the table. “You try anything with my wife, I’ll rip you apart myself. The moment she tells you to leave, you _leave_. Got it?”

The shock on Rottece’s face was far more satisfying than he’d imagined it, and Vegeta stood by while the scientists fumbled to gather himself and hurry out. The others had stopped near the door, with Okara smiling gleefully in his direction and Negi wearing a mild smirk.

“So protective of his earth woman,” Okara hummed. Vegeta shot a glare at her and she giggled as she walked out the door. Negi followed after, and only Tollash was left. She stood silently and eyed him, her gaze lingering far too long for his liking but pulling away just before he could snap at her.

“Okara is insufferable but highly valuable,” the king mused. He was still seated at the table. “The agents she employs are the reason we were able to break away from Frieza’s forces.”

“You waited until he was gone,” Vegeta pointed out. “You fought an army of earthlings. It wouldn’t be _that_ difficult to succeed.”

“A fair assessment,” the king conceded. “But now that he’s said to be on the return, what might you suggest we do?”

Vegeta folded his arms over his chest again, scowling to himself. He should have known Bardock would report to the king what Goten had said. He may have been Kakarot’s father, but the fool was still clearly loyal to his king. “You believe him?” Vegeta said with a short laugh. “The boy cracked his skull open. He could barely speak a full sentence when we pulled him out.”

“And yet your wife is trying to find a way to navigate through the rifts to bring back the only men who have ever defeated Frieza,” the king said. Vegeta’s jaw clenched. “My son, I have no interest in playing games with you. If the young man says Frieza is going to return and your wife is busy looking for a way to rescue your son and Kakarot, then I am inclined to believe him. Or at the very least, believe that _you_ believe him.”

“Just how many spies do you have?” Vegeta snapped.

“Enough to ensure that nothing happens without my knowledge,” the king said plainly. He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands into his lap. “So, I’ll ask again. What do you suggest we do to prepare?”

“What _you_ should do to prepare against Frieza?” Vegeta said, mockingly. “Nothing. None of you stand a chance.”

“Do you?”

Silence settled between them. Vegeta met the king’s gaze and the two stared at one another. “Better than any of you,” Vegeta finally said, then tightened his jaw as he continued. “But without Kakarot, we’re as good as finished.” He’d admitted as much a long time ago, and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise, but the truth still stung in a way that was difficult to ignore.

“Then perhaps it’s for the best that Rottece is offering his services to your wife,” the king said. “If we truly need the son of a low-class warrior to defeat Frieza as you say, then we’re lucky the half-breed warned us when he did.”

“Whatever. Are we done here? I’m starting to get bored,” Vegeta said, thoroughly finished with the conversation. The sooner he was out of this room and away from the king, the better off he’d be. 

Something seemed to amuse the king, and a small smile spread across his lips. “You may go, my son.”

If it was possible to be any more annoyed than he already was, then Vegeta was certainly at that point. He stormed out of the room and made for the training room immediately. At least there was one useful thing he could get out of this damned ship. He briefly considered going back to Bulma, but she was sure to be engrossed in her work and he wasn’t exactly interested in dealing with Rottece at the moment. 

So he did what he did best, and trained until his limbs shook. It was a far cry from the training room his wife had built him, but it served its purpose well enough. He went for hours before he finally surrendered to his body’s weariness, and by then it was well nearly the next morning. Along the way back to the bedroom, he paused near the med bay to glance inside; his daughter sat beside Goten, slumped over with her head resting on her arms. 

Vegeta eyed the pair for only a couple of seconds before he continued to the bedroom, slipping inside long enough to retrieve one of the smaller blankets Bulma folded and placed on the chair near their bed. When he returned, Bulla was still sound asleep. He crossed the room silently to drape the blanket over her shoulders, careful not to wake her. Bulla’s affection for Goten baffled and somewhat irritated him if he was honest, but this whole mess was his fault for leaving her alone in the first place. He paused at the door and glanced back at her, a frown crossing his mouth as he focused on its ki again.

 _Strong for so young. Very strong for so young,_ Avoca’s words crossed his mind, and Vegeta’s eyes narrowed at the thought. He knew the doctor wasn’t wrong. He’d noticed it too, though he’d assumed that the power was coming from his daughter and not the child inside her. Neither she nor Trunks were as noticeable this early on, and it was difficult for Vegeta not to think about what it might mean. Nothing good, he knew that much, but maybe...

Getting to sleep was a chore with so much on his mind. He swung between fury and frustration as he considered what they might do if Frieza really did return. The king’s plans to take West City was barely an afterthought, though he did find himself wondering just what the point of it was anymore. Perhaps he should have pushed that at the time. An army of Saiyans conquering the earth was only as useful so long as Frieza could be defeated. But if their last fight was anything to go by…

Needless to say, he didn’t get much in the way of sleep after all. It wasn’t long before he gave up and found himself right back in the training arena, his mind consumed with everything and nothing all at once. So he took it all out on the arena, tearing it apart as he allowed himself to be consumed by his frustration. Everyone had their job to do, had something to focus on. The king had his schemes, his wife had her machines, his daughter had Goten. Meanwhile, Vegeta had what he’s always had — himself. Maybe it wasn’t enough to stop Frieza. Maybe none of them were. But he could be damn sure that he wasn’t going down without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a second to apologize for the delay. The last couple of weeks were very hard on me emotionally and mentally, and as a result, I wound up with some pretty bad writer's block. I intend to return to my regular schedule of 1-3 days between updates. Thank you.
> 
> UPDATE 9/25: Literally the day after I posted this chapter, 2 people at my job quit and I forgot I was meant to housesit for a friend of mine. Face. Palm.
> 
> The next chapter is 100% being written via mobile, but that means editing and posting will be much, much slower. I apologize for this unexpected delay.


	50. Everything I Know

It had been a week.

Bulla had barely moved from his side, her blue eyes locked onto his sleeping face when she was awake. She slept beside him, curled up in the chair or slumped over with her head resting on her arms. Occasionally he’d make a sound and she’d sit a little straighter, wait for a moment, then let her shoulders slouch when he fell silent again. Avoca had assured her numerous times that he was fine; that his diluted blood made the tranquilizer a bit stronger than he’d anticipated but otherwise, all was well. She had no reason not to trust the man, and yet still she refused to leave Goten’s side for long, going so far as to put her own plans on hold. Her quiet correspondence with her grandfather could resume another time, anyway. Time and again her mind went right back to the week before when the void nearly took him from her. She wasn’t even sure why the idea of losing him bothered her so much, considering she finally had what she wanted.

Her stomach turned. It was her only reminder that she’d been sitting too long. One hand fell to her midsection automatically, fingers pressing into her skin lightly to try and ease the discomfort. Sometimes she’d almost forget about _it_ , only to be abruptly reminded with a wave of nausea or the sudden urge to eat a mountain’s worth of food and sleep for a day. Being pregnant wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded, although she found it difficult to resent it for long.

Pregnant. _Pregnant._

The mere idea was still a bit foreign to her, like the reality of it hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Perhaps that was due to the unexpectedness of it all. It’s not as if she’d ever _intended_ on getting pregnant, but at the same time she was...well, she didn’t know the word just yet. She didn’t even know how she _should_ feel. Her mother seemed excited enough, though Bulla had done her best to avoid her as much as possible. Avoca told her she was eight weeks along, not that that meant much to her. Bulla had to go looking for the signs, for the confirmation it was real. There was a slight firmness to her lower belly now, one that she only really noticed if she pressed her fingers there, and her chest ached something terrible at times. But it was the dreams that proved the most constant reminder. They were more vivid and horrible than they’d ever been before, so much that she tried to put off rest as long as possible.

In her sleep, she could still hear Frieza’s cruel jokes about her father’s line ending with her and her “monkey” brother. She dreamed of the sterile rooms and the mocking comments about her body and its uses. Toys don’t need anything, he’d say. Then she’d dream of other faces, ones that refused to leave her alone. Marron, Yamcha, her mother, her brother. Their eyes would follow her, their words would taunt her, and when she woke up, she'd be covered in sweat or tears or both. 

Yet in the end, despite his best efforts, Frieza was wrong. He was wrong about everything. Time and again she was proving that; she grew strong where he made her weak, she defeated his favorite commander and she helped to tear apart the foundations of his reign. And now she carried the very thing he had tried to deny her: a child that would be even stronger than she was, assuming Avoca was right about his assessment. If Frieza came back, he’d find his “toy” had outgrown him. He’d find his “toy” ready to fight back. He would never get the chance to deny her anything anymore.

Her stomach turned again. She shifted in her seat and leaned back to glance over her shoulder. Ever since they’d arrived, she’d been given a personal escort of sorts at the king’s order. It reminded her too much of the people Frieza had trailing her every moment of every day, and she hated it. Unfortunately, her options were limited, and patience was required of her so long as she wanted to remain in the king’s good graces. He had yet to answer her last message, where she’d agreed to his ridiculous demand to prove herself worthy of the title that was already hers by right of birth. Since her father had rejected the king’s numerous offers so thoroughly, she’d hoped he would recognize her potential instead.

 _A Saiyan only respects blood so long as the blood is strong._ What a bunch of boorish, bloodthirsty brutes. But that’s exactly what she needed, wasn’t it? 

Again, her stomach turned. The little thing inside her was demanding as hell. Bulla stood from her seat, her knees aching slightly from disuse, and made for the door. All it’d take is a quick order and she’d have food brought to her, then she’d worry more about the king’s words later. Just as she reached out for the handle, however, Goten let out a quiet, barely audible groan. The sound caught her attention as it usually did, but while she half-expected him to fall right back into silence like he had so many times, instead she turned to see him struggling to sit up.

“Goten,” she said through a relieved breath. He hadn’t seemed to hear her, as he was still trying to sit upright. Avoca had been giving him some kind of supplement to keep him nourished, but Goten looked weaker than she’d noticed before. Bulla returned to his side, her hands going to his arm to help stabilize him as he began to slide off the bed. He moved far too quickly and stumbled forward, though she caught him before he could fall.

“H-hey! Slow down,” she said, but again he didn’t seem to hear her. He didn’t even react to her touch.

“Dad,” he muttered, dazed. “I‘m coming — I promise.” He brought a hand up to rub at one of his eyes, momentarily losing his balance and only regaining it when she planted her feet a little more firmly. Only then did he realize she was there. “Bulla? Where’s...where am I?”

“The infirmary on the Saiyan ship. You’ve been asleep for a few days,” she said. She adjusted her footing slightly under his weight, doing her best to keep him steady even as he swayed. “Goten, you’re way too heavy for me to keep doing this. Sit down already.”

It took him a moment to register what she was saying. When he finally sat down on the edge of the bed, Bulla turned toward the door before she felt his hand wrap around her wrist abruptly. She looked back at him and found a harried expression on his face. The sight made her uneasy. He looked more like a scared animal than the man she’d known before.

“I have to go back,” he said. “Dad...if it’s been days here, it’s been a lot longer there.”

Bulla paused before she nodded slowly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Goten.” But that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and he shook his head frantically.

“No, I have to go _now_ ,” he insisted. “Frieza’s coming back and if I don’t save him, then we’ll—”

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” Bulla hadn’t even heard the door open. She looked up in time to watch Avoca cross the room and immediately put his hands on the sides of Goten’s face. Avoca turned the younger man’s head every which way; up and down, side to side, examining him closely as he did until he clicked his tongue and took a step back. Goten still had a loose hold of her wrist, his fingers pressing into her skin. She gently pulled her hand away and folded her arms beneath her chest.

“How are you feeling?” Avoca asked although it sounded more like a demand.

“I have to go find my dad,” Goten said immediately. Avoca scoffed and tapped the side of Goten’s face with his palm roughly.

“Pay attention, half-breed. I asked how you’re feeling, now answer me,” the doctor said with a disapproving click of his tongue.

Goten blinked rapidly and reached up to rub one of his eyes, then glanced at Bulla. Her lips turned into a slight frown as she gave a quick nod. At that, he spoke again, his voice quiet and uncertain. “F-fine, I think. My eye itches.”

Avoca seemed to take that as an invitation to manhandle him once more. He grabbed Goten’s chin and forced his head back, then took a moment to examine each eye carefully before he gave another click and released him. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” he said. “You appear perfectly healthy by my standards. A little training should knock your head back in working order — assuming you don’t have _permanent_ damage.”

“Training?” Bulla repeated, mildly irritated at the notion. “Is that the Saiyan answer to everything?”

Avoca snorted and adjusted the glasses on his face. “Saiyans are warriors from birth, princess. In fact, I have no doubt that both of you would benefit from training after sitting around for so long.” A pause, then he continued. “If it suits you, of course, Your Highness.”

“Yeah,” Goten added suddenly. “Yeah, that...I think that’ll help. I need to be ready to help my dad anyway. I have to help him. I have to.”

Bulla’s mouth thinned into a straight line as she regarded Avoca for a moment. She returned her attention to Goten, to the way he still seemed dazed as he was before Avoca had rendered him unconscious. Maybe even a bit more than that now, given how long he’d been asleep. But what else was she supposed to do? What other options were there? She supposed training _had_ sort of helped her when she was at her worst. Perhaps Avoca was right that they could both use it, even if her stomach still felt uneasy.

Getting Goten out of the infirmary was easier than she’d anticipated. Once he was on his feet and actually moving, he seemed able to focus a little better. He continued to rely on her for balance at first, but as they made their way down the hall he gradually gained more strength in his shaky legs. Bulla couldn’t help wondering if the occasional glances and sneers in his direction played a part in his determination to walk on his own. By the time they reached the training arena, he appeared to have regained most of his faculties.

She stopped in front of the doorway. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, studying him from the corner of her eye. Without so much as a glance her way, he nodded and walked inside. She followed after him, pretending not to notice the way a dozen eyes turned in their direction almost at once. _We’ll only train for a little bit,_ she thought.  _Then find something to eat._ Something rumbled in the pit of her stomach almost in protest, but she ignored it with a frown. _You can wait a few more minutes._

“Hey, you!” The voice came from above them, and she looked up to see a man with impossibly long hair floating to the ground before them. He gave a quick, curt nod of his head to Bulla, then he pointed directly at Goten. “You’re Kakarot’s boy, are you not?”

“Who are you?” Bulla said before Goten could answer. The man seemed reluctant to answer at first, but only for a brief moment.

“My name is Raditz, Your Highness. Kakarot was my brother,” he said, bowing slightly.

“He’s still alive,” Goten quickly said. “He is.” There was a hint of frenzy in his voice Raditz didn’t seem to notice but Bulla did and she watched his face a moment. The Saiyan merely grunted and crossed his arms.

“They say you have an older brother, do you not?” Raditz said. Goten bristled at his words and Bulla’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve heard rumors that he’s supposedly stronger than anyone else on this planet, save for the prince.” A smirk tugged at the corners of the Saiyan’s lips. “I’m curious, how strong are you supposed to be?”

“I’m just here to train,” Goten murmured. 

His mild protest didn’t deter Raditz. “What better way is there to push yourself than to face a mighty opponent? Don’t worry, nephew. I won’t hurt you too badly.”

“I don’t...I’m just here to train,” Goten said again, quieter this time.

There was a meekness about Goten that occasionally made its way under Bulla’s skin. Now was such an occasion; it was enough to make her forget any previous reservations she had about Avoca’s suggestion that training would help, or her concern over the way Goten still didn’t seem quite the same. She couldn’t help but be irritated by the perceived weakness, by the way his mouth curved into a frown and he looked down at the ground sheepishly. Too many eyes were on him, not even trying to hide their smirks. Unable to stand the sight, she quickly stepped forward and put her arm around his, then shot a defiant glare up at Raditz.

“You’ll be sorry you asked for it,” she said haughtily. She looked up at Goten and nudged him slightly, causing him to return her gaze with a worried expression on his face. “Remember what Avoca said about Saiyans? It’ll help, and you need to get ready to save your dad, right? So go show this jerk what you’re made of, Goten.”

He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but abruptly stopped to rub his eye just as she nudged him again. “Okay, okay, jeez,” he muttered. He pulled his arm away from her and moved toward Raditz, while Bulla stepped back to watch closely.

“You’re welcome to join us too, princess,” the Saiyan said. “The prince’s strength—”

“Has nothing to do with me,” she snapped. “I’ll join when I feel like it. Worry about yourself.”

It didn’t take long for them to start. Even with her limited experience, she could tell Raditz was a skilled fighter. His movements were second nature to him, flowing seamlessly from one action to another without hesitation. For every action Goten took, Raditz had a reaction; a punch was met with a kick, a kick met with a block, each moving so quickly that they soon became little more than blurs. Bulla remained where she was, straining her eyes to catch glimpses of their fight and ignoring the way her stomach seemed to be knotting itself up.

Goten hit the ground beside her so suddenly that she wasn’t even sure when he’d been hit. One side of his face bore the beginnings of a bruise, and he remained where he was as he took the time to rub his eye with the heel of his palm. He was muttering to himself, too low for Bulla to hear him, and for a moment it seemed as though he didn’t notice Raditz closing in on him. Bulla began to move, more out of instinct than anything, but it wasn’t necessary; Goten was quick to block the incoming blow and return one of his own.

Still, despite his countering, it wouldn’t take an expert to know Raditz was quickly gaining on him. Goten was strong, stronger than Raditz seemed to realize, but he was also distracted and that distraction made him sloppy. He started to move slower, counter less often, and generally frustrate her from where she stood. Her frown deepened every time he took a hit and she grew restless watching him, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and hugging herself tightly with her arms crossed.

“He’s talented for a half-breed. But Raditz, like all Saiyans, has been a warrior his entire life.” The voice surprised Bulla enough to shake her thoughts, and she looked to see Tollash standing nearby. Her face tightened into a scowl as the Saiyan woman took a few steps closer.

“Your man is too soft,” Tollash said. ”Look how he holds back, how he hesitates. As if he’s afraid to actually engage. It’s that weakness that will get him killed one day.”

Bulla had every intention to ignore Tollash, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t recognize the truth in her words. Raditz and Goten clashed, again and again; the force of their blows becoming progressively stronger with every strike. Goten did exactly what Tollash said he was doing; he’d swing right a second too slowly and be met with a quick and brutal swipe from the side. At one point, the two were locked against one another, each pushing the other back. Goten bulled forward until he gained enough ground, then attempted to knee his uncle in the gut. But he’d projected his next move too obviously, and Raditz simply batted him away.

Tollash chuckled and Bulla’s stomach dropped. Raditz was clearly toying with Goten now, like a cat playing with a mouse. _He’s going to lose,_ she thought. Raditz dashed left to right twice, three times, then caught Goten in a headlock. _No...he already lost._ Rationally, she knew there were no real stakes. No one would dare insult or anger her father by truly hurting Goten. She knew this was just a training session, but the knot in her gut had her chewing on her bottom lip.

“He’d have been better served with this kind of training a long time ago,” Tollash remarked absently. Bulla did her best to tune her out, but the effort was futile. Tollash was all she could hear above her own anxiety. The Saiyan woman’s voice seemed to overwhelm her own thoughts. “It’s a shame. We’ve been hearing stories about Kakarot. I’d hoped that maybe his own son would give us some hint of that power, but obviously I was wrong. If he had more experience, maybe he’d have been better prepared.”

“He beat _you_ ,” Bulla snapped at last. “He killed that friend of yours, and he would have killed you too if you hadn’t run like a coward.”

That seemed to take Tollash aback. The smug look in her expression faded quickly after that. “Of course, Your Highness. But he only achieved that power when pressed. We were reckless and he took us by surprise, nothing more.”

“If _you_ had more experience, maybe you’d have been better prepared for that,” Bulla said venomously. Her patience had worn thin, exacerbated by the tightness in her belly and the way her jaw clenched between words. Tollash studied her a moment, though Bulla pretended not to notice. 

“Of course, Your Highness,” she said again. “I apologize. I didn’t come here to criticize your man.”

“What did you come here for, then?” Bulla half-wished she hadn’t asked. The glint in Tollash’s eye returned, though her expression didn’t dare betray her thoughts.

“I am here to see to your training, should you have me,” she answered. “Your father’s strength is legendary, and your man has...merit. But a Saiyan princess must know how to fight for herself if she wants to command her people’s respect.” Tollash paused to bow, keeping her head lowered as she did. “It would honor me greatly to help you with your goals, Your Highness.”

Bulla knew what this meant. She knew this was the king’s answer. But she hated this woman, more than she could possibly say. Maybe as much as she hated Almone. And most of all, she didn’t trust her, not after what they’d overheard her saying. Not while she knew there was still some “truth” her father didn’t know. Unfortunately, she also knew this game all too well, had seen it played time and again with Frieza. If she wanted what the king offered, she would have to play.

Fortunately, however, that meant answering as a Saiyan would, and _that_ was very satisfying. She lunged forward quickly to punch Tollash, catching her off-guard as if she hadn’t expected Bulla to accept. The Saiyan woman recovered quickly enough, a smirk on her lips as she countered, and the dance began in earnest then.

Avoca was right after all. Before long, the more Bulla moved the better she felt. Now that she wasn’t paying attention to Goten’s fight, it was easier to ignore the feeling in her gut and focus instead on her own movements. It was surprisingly simple to gain ground against Tollash, who seemed more intent on defending than doing anything else. Pride warmed itself inside Bulla’s chest, content with the idea that she was more than the Saiyan woman had anticipated.

“You’re doing well, Your Highness,” Tollash commented at one point, reeling back from the knee Bulla had slammed into her chest. “But if I may, your movements are far too predictable. You project every action before you take it.”

“Is that so?” Bulla mocked. It was almost laughable how quickly she’d been able to overwhelm Tollash.

“I don’t like to lie, Your Highness,” Tollash said, jokingly. Bulla rushed her but Tollash leaped back, then launched herself forward so quickly that Bulla only just had enough time to raise her arms to block whatever strike was incoming. Just before they came into contact with one another, Tollash vanished and pain radiated through Bulla’s shoulder. By the time she realized what had happened, Tollash had caught her from the front, with a fist landing squarely against her jaw. Bulla spun to swing at her, only to lash out at nothing. Tollash was several feet away, arms crossed with black eyes staring at her expectantly, chillingly.

“How did you—” Bulla began but stopped to place a hand on her cheek gingerly. Her fingertips felt more like needles to her skin.

“If I may, Your Highness...your inexperience has led you to become comfortable with a particular set of moves and patterns. It was just a matter of figuring it out. Any seasoned fighter would tell you so,” Tollash explained coolly. “It’s a novice mistake, although it’s one that can be easily corrected.”

Bulla’s cheeks burned with a mix of humiliation and anger. The knot in her stomach was more pronounced now that she’d been stopped short, though she did her best to push it down. “I was under the impression you were going to _train_ with me, not tease me.”

Tollash was unmoved by the venom in her tone. “I’m doing just that, princess. Forgive me if it appears mean, but that’s the nature of battle. If you want to win, you can’t allow yourself to fall stagnant. If you require a break...”

“No,” Bulla said firmly. She swallowed hard and steeled her nerves. “But no more games.”

“As you wish.”

With her ‘lesson’ having been taught, Tollash held back less, though Bulla wasn’t sure that made her any happier. Knowing that she’d been toyed with made her more self-conscious of her every action after that. She made an effort to acknowledge her patterns and found it more difficult than she’d expected, and because she was so busy doing that, she wasn’t as decisive. On the other hand, the Saiyan woman proved quite the opposite. Every action she made was devastatingly precise, too quick for Bulla to counter correctly.

Every now and again Tollash would yell something at her. Every yell grew less and less coherent to her, though. The knot in her stomach had begun to unfurl itself and twisted around, threatening to burst if she didn’t see to it soon. _Hold on a second,_ she urged it. _Just another second or two._ She’d been so embarrassed by Goten’s fumbling that now she couldn’t bear to do the same herself. _I have to win this. I have to._

Her gut seemed to have other ideas. It was all Bulla could do to jerk away and press a hand to her mouth, the free hand going up to indicate a pause. _Don’t you dare_ , she thought urgently. _Not here of all places!_

“There are no timeouts in battle, princess,” Tollash warned harshly. Bulla wanted to say something, literally anything, but feared what would happen if she opened her mouth. Tollash granted her only a few more seconds before she rushed forward. In an instant Bulla turned to meet her, catching the Saiyan woman’s fists with both of her hands. She swallowed hard against the sick in the back of her throat, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Tollash twisted their arms in a way that made it feel like she was close to breaking Bulla’s, causing the younger woman to wince under her grasp.

“If you want a rest, you only need to ask,” Tollash offered in a smug tone.

“S-screw you,” Bulla said. She should’ve just taken the offer, but she couldn’t bear to give Tollash that satisfaction. Another smirk drew itself across Tollash’s mouth. Only a second passed before Tollash abruptly pushed her back, breaking the hold they had on one another. Briefly taken aback by the sudden action, Bulla realized the reason for it a second too late. Tollash leaned back and her legs thrust out toward her.

“W-wait!” Bulla called out to no avail. Where she thought to catch or maybe even block the blow, there was instead a flash of light and a sound so loud that it made her ears ring. Bulla’s eyes shut tightly out of instinct, her head turning away from the source of it. A crash rang out through the arena, followed quickly by the sounds of a dozen voices gasping out all at once.

“Bulla!” Goten’s voice pierced through the rest. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked down at her shaking hands. Her palms felt warmer than they had before. “Bulla, are you okay?”

She’d actually almost forgotten he was even there. Her fingers felt numb as she examined them, trying to piece together what had just happened. All she knew was that she just felt dizzy. As her vision came back into focus, she realized there was a massive hole in the ground beneath them. And by massive, it was nearly the entire floor of the arena that was just gone. _Did I...do that?_ she wondered, amazed. She looked down at her hands. _No._ I _didn’t do that._ She touched her lower belly and the firmness there. When she looked up again, Tollash was several feet away, her eyes wide with shock just like the other pairs of eyes staring at her. Even Raditz had a look about him that resembled something between fear and confusion.

“Are you okay?” Goten asked again, more insistently. His hands were on his shoulders and she squinted slightly to look at him. There were half a dozen scrapes on his face alone, and for a minute she could’ve sworn there was something in his eye.

“Goten...your face,” was all she could think to say. Frankly, it was all she _could_ say before her stomach churned and her hands returned to her mouth. Goten was quick to move her, pulling her against his chest as he led them through the somehow still functioning door to the hallway. The moment her feet touched the ground again, she doubled over and vomited. It brought no relief. If anything, she felt worse for it with the taste of bile lingering in her mouth.

“Bulla,” she heard Goten say, but if he said anything else, she couldn’t tell. She could hardly hear anything above the sound of her heart pounding in her chest and the ringing in her ears. The next thing she knew, they were moving. By the time she realized where they were going, they were already there.

She blinked away as much of the confusion as she could, doing her best to clear her head while she took in her surroundings. She’d been laid down, the cushion beneath her providing very little in the way of comfort. When she stretched her fingers she realized one of her hands was being grasped tightly by Goten. It didn’t hurt, but his grip was uncomfortable so she tugged lightly to pull her hand away. Avoca stood nearby, looking about as pleased to see them as expected, in that he was scowling and tapping away at a screen. Yet despite his scowl, there was a hint of something else in his eyes. Something she’d seen before, but couldn’t quite place.

The door opened abruptly. At first, she thought it was her father walking in but the red cloak draped over one shoulder proved otherwise. Avoca briefly stopped his furious typing to offer a low bow, then cast a glare at Goten, who was too busy rubbing his eye to notice.

“Stand and bow, half-breed,” Avoca hissed. But the king waved his hand dismissively even as Goten began to comply.

“Goten, is it? I see you’ve recovered,” the king said cordially.

Goten awkwardly shifted as he settled back down beside Bulla. “Yeah, um...thanks for all the help.” Her king-grandfather crossed the room and stopped a few feet away from them, glancing over his shoulder just long enough to dismiss his guards with a nod. He looked to Goten and considered him a moment, then turned his attention to Bulla. It took effort to pull herself upright, and her head spun though she refused to let them see it bother her. The king didn’t speak until the door shut.

“The arena has endured hundreds of years of my people’s best warriors. It was built using materials gathered from our homeworld, and was one of the few remaining reminders we had of Sadala,” the king said. “My father trained there, as his father before him and as I did in my youth. Once, I’d hoped to train my son there as well.” A pause and the king folded his arms over his chest. He was more bothered than he was willing to admit. “We Saiyans are not prone to sentiment. The arena’s eventual destruction was inevitable, though I never dreamed I would live to see it. Nor did I believe the cause of it would be my own blood.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Goten said quickly. He blinked forcefully, and Bulla could tell he was resisting the urge to rub his eyes again. “Tollash pushed too hard. Bulla was just trying to—”

Sweet Goten. The attempt almost didn’t annoy her until he recoiled when the king interrupted him. “I am well aware. Tollash is a skilled warrior. She has been one of my most trusted allies for nearly sixty years, one of the few I can rely on consistently. Yet I have never in all these years seen the fear she carried with her today when she told me of the arena’s destruction, or how she narrowly evaded certain death.”

He was looking at Bulla then. _Good. Let her be afraid,_ Bulla thought bitterly. “She asked for it,” she said. “But I didn’t mean to...I wasn’t trying to destroy anything. Or anyone.” That much was true. She hated that woman but knew her death would only be more of a hassle for her than anything.

“I know. Just as I know you had no control of this new power. Avoca, I believe you have some insight on this matter, do you not?”

Avoca cleared his throat and adjusted the glasses on his narrow face. “Your Highness, as you know, most Saiyan children do not exhibit much in the way of their true potential until they are placed into the nursery pods for further development. However, in this case...for so young, it’s already exhibiting strength typically seen in older children. Combined with the princess’s own natural abilities, it’s impressive that only the arena was destroyed and not the buildings below.” The doctor stepped closer and raised the same handheld device he’d used on her before, moving it over her lower abdomen and offering it out for the king to see. “You see, sire? It’s very strong already, so early in its life. Fascinating, wouldn’t you agree? Hybrids for parents, and yet this kind of strength...truly _fascinating._ ”

For all of Avoca’s enthusiasm and fascination, the king seemed to share none of it. He barely cast a glance at the small screen, eyes lingering there only briefly until he waved Avoca away. The thin man bowed low and retreated to his terminal, his own gaze flickering toward Bulla as he continued his work. For a moment, she wondered if the king had been listening at all. He showed no emotion on his face, no interest or reaction to anything Avoca had said. It made her more uneasy than she could say, and she found herself shifting uncomfortably.

Then, he finally spoke. “How do you feel?” 

The question took her by surprise. Ever since she arrived, it had only been asked by two people: Goten, and her mother. She’d been under the impressions Saiyans simply never considered such things. That they likely thought the idea of it weak. Where she would normally have an answer ready, hearing it asked by her king-grandfather had thrown her off, and she struggled with it a bit longer than she’d have liked. 

“I’m a little tired. And my head hurts,” she confessed. It was as difficult to lie to the king as it was to lie to her father. Maybe more so. They both carried a certain air of command about them, and while her grandfather’s was far less volatile, that only made it that much more intimidating.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” he said. It wasn’t a question, so she only nodded out of courtesy. “I thought not. The kind of power you displayed today would make the strongest man weak. Avoca, see to it that my granddaughter and Goten find their way to my quarters for dinner.”

At that, Bulla’s interest was piqued. Grandfather or not, she knew what his terms had been. Being granted an audience of sorts so soon after he’d declared his terms for recognizing her properly was a step in the right direction. 

“The prince and his wife as well,” the king abruptly added. “I’m sure my son would not appreciate being excluded.”

Even the prospect of dealing with her mother did nothing to ruin Bulla’s intrigue. Once the king had gone and Avoca had finished fussing over his terminal, Bulla turned to Goten and smiled wide. “You realize what this means, don’t you?”

“Um...we get to eat?” he asked, absently. His eye seemed to be bothering him again and her smile wavered a tiny bit.

“ _Obviously_ we get to eat, but do you understand why joining the king is so important?” Bulla said, doing her best to suppress her irritation. He shook his head, and her resolve quickly faltered. “You really don’t get it? He’s the king of the Saiyans — if Frieza really does come back, they’re the ones who can stop him.”

“But didn’t Frieza rule them before? I mean, until recently I thought they under his control,” he said, uncertainly. 

“All the more reason they’ll fight him if he returns,” she said confidently. Goten didn’t seem to share her confidence, although he seemed content to simply nod in reply. Bulla gave up at that point. It wasn’t like she expected him to appreciate the politics involved nor the reason it was so important to her.

They returned to their room once Avoca was satisfied with her condition. Her stomach still ached as she showered and dressed, and she had to fight to hold back nausea creeping up the back of her throat. As they followed the two guards sent to escort them, Bulla became more sure of herself. She slipped her arm around Goten’s, allowing him to guide her while she lost herself in thought.

She was strong. Goten was strong. Her father was strong. Her brother was strong, wherever he was. And she could admit that her mother’s inventions were useful and that Goten’s brother was fearsome in his own right. But none of them could compare to a Saiyan army when it came to fighting Frieza. The threat of his return was bad enough; knowing that if he came back and found out about her baby...

 _That won’t happen,_ she thought. _I won’t be my mom. I won’t. I’ll be strong, and I’ll have an army with me._ She’d never been so sure about anything in her life as she was at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The insanity (mostly) ends. The vast majority of this chapter was written via mobile, in small sentences or paragraphs, due to all the real-life stuff going on. While I won't be able to go back to my semi-daily/every other day schedule like I want to (work just won't permit it), we're back on track for more consistent updates.
> 
> Thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> EDIT: Wrong chapter title lmao I hate mobile


	51. Go On, Go On

Goten felt the emptiness inside of him like a persistent, lingering sickness. It wasn’t hunger or an actual illness or sorrow, but it nagged him like those things. Ever since he’d woken up, he felt like he saw things more clearly than he had before and less so, at the same time. The entire day had passed by him in a blur, with only the fear he briefly felt when Bulla fainted standing out among all the other blurs. And when Avoca spoke about their baby to the king — oh, yeah, that was still a little weird, if he thought about it too much because _holy crap_ a baby — that stuck out to him as well. But even then, those things too faded in his mind the further away they got from it.

Time just seemed odd to him now. He wasn’t sure how to word it, or if he even could. He was somewhere else for a little bit, somewhere completely different from this place, and now this place seemed stranger than the other place he’d been in. He’d only been there for a few seconds but it felt way longer than that. His father was in that other place, waiting to be set free. Dad had already waited so long, and still, Goten hadn’t done anything about it. Why hadn’t he saved him yet? What was he waiting for?

“Goten.” Bulla’s voice dragged him from his thoughts and he looked at her. They stood in front of a door. Her arm was around his like it usually was. Her touch had always felt nice before, but now it felt kind of cold. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah,” he lied. “I heard you.” He didn’t. She knew it — she knew everything, anyway, because that’s just how she was but she didn’t say anything. They walked through the big door into a room that looked more like a really wide hallway. There were black and crimson banners hanging on every wall, draped in a way that looked both regal and somehow threatening at the same time. A table sat in the middle of the room, hugged by large, ornate looking chairs and covered with a dozen or more plates.

It took him a minute to remember why they were there. Dinner. An important dinner. At least, it was important to Bulla. He still wasn’t sure why she cared so much. Saiyans, the war...none of it would matter once he saved his dad. Everyone knew his dad was the only one who could stop Frieza anyway. He blinked against the ache in his left eye. Jeeze, the itch just wouldn’t go away. He rubbed and rubbed but it never stopped. 

He tried to pay attention, he really did. Vegeta and Bulma were there too, although he wasn’t _entirely sure_ when they’d gotten there. All he knew was that Vegeta looked angry — angrier, more like — and Bulma kept looking at him. There was some talk but he wasn’t paying much attention. Bulla was the only one he could really focus on for longer than a few seconds. Her and their baby — _oh Kami_ that’s still really weird — and everything else just didn’t really matter. But their ki was like a light in a dark room, and so he tried to focus on that as the king spoke and Vegeta scoffed and Bulma laughed. None of this had anything to do with saving his dad, so why should he—

“Is the food not to your liking?”

Goten realized a second too late that the king was speaking to him. He looked up and also realized he hadn’t touched anything on his plate. Actually, he hadn’t even noticed they’d been served. “Huh? Oh, uh...no, it’s fine. I was just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bulma teased. He smiled automatically. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew she was just trying to lighten the mood. Even only half-paying attention he could tell there was tension looming over them. Goten made a point to take a large bite of the roast in front of him. He could hardly taste it, but he forced himself to eat anyway so that Bulma wouldn’t worry too much when she looked away.

“As I was saying, then. The destruction of the arena comes at an unfortunate time. We’ll need to find a suitable replacement where our forces can train,” the king said. He tore a piece of bread in half and pressed it into the roast’s juices on his plate. “I’ve heard you have some experience with such things, Bulma. My son has mentioned your prowess with training regiments on more than one occasion.”

The gravity room. Trunks and Goten had only ever been allowed in there on occasion, always with Vegeta present, and he could honestly say it was never the most enjoyable experience. If they were there, they were there _just_ to train and nothing else. To ten-year-old Goten, that was only bearable for so long. But Trunks would stay in there for days if it meant spending time with his dad.

“You expect her to build you a new arena?” Vegeta said with a scoff. “She’s already busy trying to fix _your_ mess, in case you forgot.”

“I was under the impression that she was more than capable of handling such a task. I assigned Rottece to assist her for this very reason, in the event her attention was needed elsewhere.” The king cut a piece of meat, chewed it slowly, then swallowed before he continued. Everything the king did seemed to go in slow motion, but no one said anything. “I’ve been told that the rift generator is coming along nicely. If I was misinformed, then I owe you both an apology.”

That seemed to strike a chord with Bulma. Goten noticed the way her shoulders straightened and her mouth thinned into a line. “The generator is in its final stages of completion. I’m more concerned with whether or not any of them could even _handle_ the kind of training regiment I made for Vegeta. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s not exactly what you’d call average. Are you sure any of them would last that long?”

“It’s true that he’s far surpassed any of my warriors,” the king agreed. “But that’s precisely why I’d like you to oversee its construction. You’ll be provided with whatever resources or people you need to ensure its completion, and it’ll be entirely up to you where it’s located.”

Goten looked down at his plate. If Bulma built another training room like the one she made before, then the rest of the Saiyans would only get that much stronger. Maybe Bulla was right. Maybe the Saiyans _were_ the answer to Frieza.

 _No...I have to find dad,_ he thought. _He’s the only one who can stop Frieza._ This conversation, this talk about training and warriors, none of it mattered. Even if the Saiyans get stronger, even if _he_ got stronger, it wouldn’t make a difference. Saving his dad was the only way to stop Frieza because that’s how it’d always been, right? Dad was the one who saved everyone all the time. He was always the only one who stood between them and certain death. No Son Goku, no saving the world. No one else mattered by comparison.

Not even himself.

“Goten.” 

Someone said his name. His eye itched again. He blinked, then rubbed at it until he felt a hand on his arm. It was only then that he realized everyone was staring at him. He glanced down to find he’d bent the fork in his hand and frowned at it. _This is why I hate forks,_ he thought absently, as if that alone was the cause for the staring. Bulla shook his arm lightly to draw his attention to her. Her touch still felt so cold to him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked in a hushed whisper. Her tone was strangely gentle, especially coming from her. Bulla was never gentle, not unless something was wrong or she wanted something. Did he really seem that bad?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, doing his best to sound normal. “I was just...thinking.” Using the same excuse twice in a row was probably not the best idea, but Goten didn’t think it was really lying. He just didn’t know how to explain _what_ he was thinking about, or that he was so lost in thought that he didn’t even know what the rest of them had been talking about.

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Bulma pointed out, motioning toward his plate. There was a worried expression on her face, though she quickly masked it with a smile. “I bet it’s this food, right? It’s not nearly as good as the stuff we usually eat. I’m sure the king’s got _someone_ in the kitchen who knows how to cook something with some real flavor.” Bulma turned toward the king, but Goten was quick to speak.

“It’s, uh...no, this is fine. Really, I’m fine. I just have a lot on my mind,” he said. Both the king and Vegeta had near-identical expressions on their faces as they watched him, and Goten felt his cheeks heat up under their scrutiny. After a pause, Bulla’s hand dropped from his arm down to his knee. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, but by now she’d returned her attention to the king. The conversation seemed to have moved on while Goten was lost in thought. As they continued, Goten worked on the food on his plate.

“Like I was saying, West City has a lot of defenses. It has a few weaknesses as far as getting in, but taking over...Frieza made sure that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to take the city from the outside,” Bulla said. 

“From the outside,” the king repeated. Bulla nodded. “No matter. Okara will make quick work of the inside. What do you know of Commander Chigo?”

Bulla hesitated. Her fingers squeezed around Goten’s knee slightly. “He’s...very strong. The faceless man...Gohan trained him, so he’s a lot more skilled than most of the others. Frieza usually brought him on the ship whenever he going off-world, for raids and...other things like that. I don’t think he’s from Earth.”

It should have bothered Goten to hear that his brother had been used to train someone else. But if he was honest, right now it didn’t. At this point, he’d be surprised if Gohan _hadn’t_ been used by Frieza for something terrible. He picked at his plate, knowing the other three Saiyans at the table were on their third course already while he was still unable to finish the first.

“What makes you think that?” Vegeta asked. 

“I’m not sure. I’ve just never seen anyone do the things he can,” she said. “And I don’t know why else Frieza would have had Gohan train him.”

Vegeta didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, and he pressed further. “Like what kinds of things?”

“That’s another matter we can discuss another time. For now, I am more interested in Kakarot’s other son,” the king said, abruptly shifting the conversation. Vegeta shot an icy scowl in his direction, though the king didn’t seem to notice. He looked to Goten then, with cold black eyes and an unreadable expression. “Your brother proves an elusive man. I had thought he might join us once you were brought here, but it seems he’s determined to remain hidden.”

“He does that,” Goten said with a shrug. “I don’t know where he is either if that’s what you’re asking.” _Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,_ he almost added but thought better of. The way Bulla looked at him then made him think she was annoyed by his spoken answer anyway.

“A pity, but I expected as much,” the king said mildly. “I’ve sent Negi and Nappa to South City.”

“Wait, why?” Bulma asked. “I mean, there’s nothing left for you guys there. Bulla and Goten are here, so why bother?”

“An entire city full of Frieza’s enemies is hardly what I would call nothing,” the king replied. “I’m told Kakarot’s wife is still there. Commander Chigo may decide to strike the city again before he sets his sights on us, and it would be irresponsible to leave one of our own unprotected.”

Suddenly, Vegeta laughed and Goten jumped at the sound. Vegeta laughed so rarely that it took Goten a moment to realize it wasn’t real. “Sending your finest to protect a human woman? You could at least try to come up with a better lie,” he said. “Just admit what it is: a trap, and it’s a stupid one. Only an idiot would fall for it.”

“ _Father_ ,” Bulla hissed. Vegeta ignored her, his glare squarely focused on the king. 

“There is no trap. And I’d thank you not to question my motives,” the king said coldly. “Kakarot is low-born and has a human wife, yes, but Goten is one of us now. Or have you forgotten?” He gestured toward Bulla. “Should I leave members of my own family at my enemies’ mercy? We look after our own, my son. One day you’ll understand what that means.”

 _The baby. Gohan._ Goten realized that those were the only reason the king even wanted him there. It made perfect sense that Gohan was more interesting to the king than he was, given everything. And speaking of the baby...well, Vegeta’s mocking smirk turned into a scowl so quickly that Goten wondered if it was possible for an expression to get whiplash. His eye itched again, and as he rubbed it he found himself thinking about his mom, and the Saiyans the king sent to “protect” her. It seemed an awful lot like a trap, but if the king actually thought Gohan would come running out of hiding just because they thought they could use their mom as bait, he’d be sorely mistaken. She’d probably scare them off long before Chigo even thought about going after South City.

 _None of this has anything to do with saving my dad,_ he thought. They’d started talking again, not that he was listening at all anymore. He was taking too long, wasting too much time here. The dinner was dragging on longer than any dinner he’d ever eaten before. Maybe that was just how things went with royal people. While he grew restless, he noticed how Bulla seemed entirely comfortable here. This was her element, something she was naturally good at. He grew increasingly aware of how awkward he felt sitting beside her. She belonged here, with these kinds of dinners and this kind of talk. And as for him?

“Did you hear me?” Bulla was talking to him again, and he blinked against the persistent itch in his eye.

“No, sorry, I was…” he started but stopped himself. If he used the same excuse for the third time, he was sure to get into trouble. Then again, judging by the way Bulla was looking at him, he was probably already there. He went back to picking at his food, hoping she’d drop it. Thankfully, the king ended dinner with a quick wave of his hand. Two people appeared seemingly out of nowhere and cleared their dishes quickly. Goten hadn’t even finished his, but he wasn’t sorry to see it go.

“It’s late. I’m sure we all have our own duties to attend,” the king said. “I would keep you a little longer still, my son.”

Vegeta looked very much like he’d rather be doing anything else, but he remained seated while the rest of them began to make their way out. Goten trailed behind Bulla and Bulma, doing his best not to appear as tired as he felt. For the next three days, every move Goten made was made automatically; he woke, he ate, he trained, he went to sleep. Bulla was busy, doing whatever it was she did with her meetings and her conversations. Yet despite everything he did, he was still restless. He needed to get to work, _real_ work, needed to find a way back into the void to save his dad. Only, he had no idea where to start. He’d only seen his dad by accident before when he’d almost been pulled into that void. 

 _Bulma._ The whisper came like a revelation after dinner one evening, while he’d been trying too hard to listen to Bulla, and he knew it was right. Bulma was working on that thing, the rift thing the king mentioned. If anyone would know how to save his dad, it was Bulma. She _always_ knew. Heck, she built a time machine once before! Excited, Goten made for the door, knowing that this was it. This was the answer he was looking for. 

Suddenly, Bulla’s arms went around his waist from behind, her face pressed against his back. “Goten, _stop._ What’s going on with you?” 

The question confused him. Nothing was going on — that was the problem. He wasn’t doing anything to save his dad except waste more time going to a dinner he didn’t belong at and training for a fight he’d never win. But Bulla wouldn’t get that. She belonged there. She was a princess. She was the one who could sit with kings and talk about all that royal stuff. He was just some guy from the mountains. His dad was the important one, not him.

“Say something,” she spoke more firmly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you ignoring me?”

“Nothing,” he finally said, once he found the words. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry, I just...I need to save my dad.” Her hold tightened. 

“Ever since you...did you even hear what I said before?” she asked. “Are you even listening to me?”

He recognized that tone, the underlying insecurity beneath the anger there. It was the same one she had weeks ago, in South City before the attack. Before they found out about the baby. Before they came here. Before he knew his dad was waiting for him, waiting to come home. It felt like so much time had passed since then.

“Goten, just...let’s stay in today. Stay with me.”

She didn’t get it. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. She just didn’t know how important his dad was. He knew he had to go, that he’d already waited way too long. Part of him wanted to pull away from her and go straight to Bulma, to get the answers he knew she’d have and finally, _finally,_ go save his dad. But the other part…

Her touch was warm again. Everything about her felt comforting, enticing him into her arms. Maybe it was just their ki — hers and the baby’s. Wherever it came from, it was intoxicating. Goten let himself be pulled away from the door and back toward their bed. She kissed him with the same intensity she always had when she thought _this_ was the way to get what she wanted. It wasn’t, not really. He would do anything for her if she’d only ask. 

The next thing he knew she was on top of him, her legs around his waist and her arms loosely wrapped around his neck. His hands were at her hips, moving her up and down quickly. They’d given up on actual words just moments ago, and he couldn’t really remember if they’d managed anything resembling a conversation before this. Now the only sounds in the room were her light moans and his occasional gasps, and the ones their bodies made. Goten touched and kissed her until she let out a shuddering, shaking cry, and only then did he himself finish. She held onto him tightly after they were done, refusing to release him even as they laid down in the bed. 

Goten wanted to stay there. He tried to stay there, tried to keep himself from leaving. She was so warm, warmer than she’d ever been before. But when he closed his eyes, he was back in that place. An endless horizon of blackness, a starry sky with no end and no beginning, and a ground made of perpetually moving water. All he could see was that sky, that impossible floor until he blinked and he saw his dad. He was far away, too far away for him to reach, but he tried anyway. _Goten,_ his dad said. _Come on, son. I’m counting on you._ He didn’t even turn around. 

When Goten opened his eyes again, it was morning. The stars remained in his vision until he blinked them away. That itch returned in his left eye and he rubbed at it roughly, then glanced down at Bulla. She was lying on her stomach with one arm stretched across his midsection. The selfish part of him wanted to stay where he was. The other part knew better, knew that he’d already been too selfish for too long. He carefully pulled himself away and slipped out of bed. The further away he got from her, the easier it was to forget how warm she was, so he walked until he forgot.

Bulma’s new lab was bigger than the one she’d had before. It was the first thing he noticed when he stepped inside; that, and the skinny man off in the corner hunched over a table. The thin man jerked upright and spun round to face him when he heard the door open, and Goten could have sworn he hissed. 

“What do you want?” the thin man demanded. “Well? Do you have a message from the king? I can’t imagine there’s any other reason you’d be interrupting our important work.”

Before Goten could even think of an answer, Bulma appeared from behind a large circular, metal thing that resembled some kind of portal and offered him a wide smile. “Oh hey, Goten!” she said. The corner of his mouth turned slightly upward as he looked away from the thin man. “Is everything okay? How’s Bulla doing?”

“She’s fine,” he said, maybe too quickly. “She’s asleep.”

Bulma watched him a moment before she began prying off her gloves and made her way toward him. “Well, I see you’ve met Rottece. I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s about as pleasant as all the other Saiyans here, but at least he’s good at his job.” Rottece gave a disinterested huff, and when Goten looked in his direction again he’d returned to hunching over his table. “A real ray of sunshine, that one. So what brings you here? You gonna join me for breakfast?”

Breakfast. Huh. He forgot about that, but it didn’t matter. “The thing you’re working on...that rift thing. Is that so you can go into the void?” he asked instead. Bulma looked at him in surprise, then slowly nodded. She stood beside a table and motioned toward it, and Goten moved closer and looked at the devices there. He was pretty sure he’d seen them before, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint where. There were two other smaller versions of it sitting nearby; they were attached by a couple of short cords and looked more like watches than anything else to him.

“Well yeah, sort of, but how did you—”

“Can it bring people back? Out, I mean,” Goten asked. “Can it bring my dad out? He’s the only one who can stop Frieza.” Bulma knew that already, but he wanted to make sure.

The expression on her face was difficult to read. It sat somewhere between confusion and concern. “That’s sort of the idea, but we still haven’t tested it out,” Bulma said. There was hesitation in her voice when she spoke, and the way she eyed him. It disappeared into a bright smile. “Say, why don’t you go with me for some breakfast? Bulla mentioned that you haven’t been eating as much lately.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. It was weird that Bulla said anything to Bulma. She normally hated talking to her. “How long until it’s ready?”

“I...I’m not sure. That depends on how the tests go. Soon, though. Really soon,” she said.

“Can I help?” he asked. “Whatever you need, I can help with it.”

“Oh, do you have a firm grasp on interdimensional physics?” Rottece snapped, apparently having run out of patience. He stood upright and turned to face Goten, waving a pen in the air at him. “How about multidimensional timelines? The delicate nuances in quantum mechanics? Why don’t you tell me what subatomic particles are, hm?”

Kami, his eye itched so bad it almost hurt. He rubbed it while he tried to figure out what language Rottece just spoke. “I...I don’t know what—”

“Then you _can’t_ help us. You’ll just get in our way.”

“Hey, knock it off! He’s just trying to help out. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it,” Bulma snapped, crossing her arms as she admonished Rottece. The thin man pursed his lips and turned away from them, returning to his work with a slight grumble. Bulma looked back to Goten and offered an apologetic smile. “I appreciate the offer, Goten, but there’s not really a lot you can do to help. It’s pretty much done except for the testing, but those are gonna be pretty dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not afraid of getting hurt,” he ventured, trying not to sound too desperate. “I have to find my dad, Bulma. If Frieza’s really coming back, then we’re all doomed without him.”

“I know, and we’re working on it. But for now, why don’t you join me for some breakfast. You must be starving!”

It was the last thing he wanted to do. The only problem was, when Bulma decided she was going to do something, there was no denying her. Bulla was like that too. She took him by the arm and led him out of the lab, away from Rottece’s smug smirk. Goten wanted so desperately to convince her to go back, though no amount of arguing actually worked. She just hushed him and told him not to worry about it all the way to her room.

“Vegeta’s off doing something for the king again,” she explained as they entered. “Here, take a seat. I’ll see about getting someone to bring us some food. What do you feel like having?”

“Bulma, I’m not really—”

“Rice and fried eggs coming right up, then. Maybe some chicken too! Sound good? Hmm...and sausage, I think.” 

He sighed and nodded, the only two responses she seemed willing to accept. Once again he had to work at paying attention to everything she was saying, but without Bulla there it was harder to focus. When the food arrived, he did his best to eat it without making it too obvious that he wasn’t interested. Everything looked fine, yet it all tasted so bland to him. He’d planned to eat through the stuff in front of him before trying to convince her to listen one last time. Unfortunately, Bulma was too well acquainted with typical Saiyan appetites; she already had the second course waiting to go by the time he’d choked down the first.

“You know, Vegeta got cold feet too,” Bulma said. The comment was so out of the blue it genuinely confused him. “When I got pregnant with Trunks, he had the nerve to look me dead in the eye and say ‘woman, how is that _my_ problem?’” Her Vegeta voice was so spot on that he had to smile. “He came around to it eventually, of course. But even then it took him a long time to accept what it meant to be a father. What it all really _meant_. Having kids is really scary at first, even for the toughest guys out there. You’ll get it, Goten.”

It was a sweet story. Goten nodded when she finished, but then he realized why she was telling him that, and he quickly shook his head.

“I don’t have cold feet,” he said. “I...I guess that’s what I’m worried about. The baby, I mean. And Bulla.” Bulma looked at him curiously, and he frowned slightly. It wasn’t a total lie. He did worry, but his mind was so focused on saving his dad that he’d hardly thought about the baby at all when he couldn’t sense its ki. “It’s just with Frieza coming back, all I can think about it is stopping him. I can’t think about anything else, Bulma. That’s why I have to go save my dad — if I don’t, then...then what kind of life is that baby going to have? If Frieza comes back, and if he wants to take Bulla back...”

“That’s not going to happen, Goten,” Bulma said. “Vegeta and I aren’t going to let that happen, and neither are you. Even if we have to fight him off on our own, that bastard’s not going to lay a _finger_ on her ever again.”

She spoke with such conviction that Goten almost believed her. He really wanted to believe her. He rubbed his eye with the back of his hand and frowned because he knew, no matter what she said, there was nothing any of them could do without his dad. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bulma suddenly reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. 

“Goten, your dad was always...well, let’s just say it was easy for him to get tunnel vision. I know things were a little different when you were a kid, but he wasn’t always there for his family. All because he was so focused on getting stronger for the next big fight.” She squeezed his hand tightly and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to see you make the same mistakes he did. Let _me_ worry about finding a way to save your dad. I promise that when I figure it out, you’ll be the first person I tell. In the meantime, you have to be there for Bulla, because right now she needs you.”

He nodded. It was all he could do because she wouldn’t have accepted anything else. He knew she was right, that Bulla needed him. Their baby needed him. When he returned to their room, he found Bulla still asleep in their bed, though she had turned onto her back. Her naked breasts were barely covered by a red sheet, rising and falling slowly as she slept, and he was almost mesmerized by the sight. 

Goten sat on the edge of the bed beside her, careful so as to not wake her. He watched her a moment, took in how pretty she was with her messy hair and the morning sun on her face. After a few minutes, he glanced down toward her stomach and placed his hand there gently. He didn’t have to do that to feel the baby’s ki, but it still felt nice. It was a lot stronger now than it had been just a couple weeks before, and much less wild. Was eight weeks really that much time? Could it feel him too? He wished he could tell. Yet even then, even as he sat there marveling at his own child’s existence, his mind returned to his dad.

 _I’m counting on you,_ his dad’s words reminded him. A lot of people were counting on him, it seemed. He would be there for Bulla and he would be there for the baby, just like he promised. The only way he could do that, though, was to make sure they were safe. If he didn’t do that at least, how could he live with himself knowing all he had to do was save his dad? He couldn’t. He _wouldn’t._

“Everything will be alright,” he said to the baby. Bulla stirred lightly, but by then he’d removed his hand and headed for the door. He knew what he had to do, and how he was going to do it.

Bulma wasn’t in the lab when he walked in. Rottece didn’t even notice him until he’d already picked up one of those little devices. The thin man really wasn’t all that strong, either. It didn’t take much to get him out of the way. _You’re so close,_ he heard his dad say and he knew he was on the right path. The ground rumbled as the portal came to life slowly, while the device on his wrist began beeping wildly.

“Goten!” He glanced back over his shoulder to see Bulla in the door, holding onto the frame. “What the hell are you doing, you idiot?!”

“Don’t worry!” he said, smiling wide because he was being honest. “I’m going to go find my dad.”

“You’re insane,” Bulla said. “Turn that thing off and get back here!”

 _You’re so close._ “It’s okay, Bulla! I’ll be back, and I’ll have my dad with me! We’ll stop Frieza before he even has a chance to get here.”

“Goten, _please_! Turn it off!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He pitied her. She just didn’t get it. “I love you, okay? I’ll be back before you know it! I promise.”

“GOTEN!”

The void wasn’t so scary this time. He felt nothing the closer he got, except for the exhilaration of knowing how close he was to saving his dad. His eye didn’t even itch anymore. _It’ll be alright,_ he thought. A few seconds later, he surrendered himself to the darkness and knew that when he opened his eyes again, he’d finally, _finally,_ find his dad. _It’ll be alright._


	52. My Love

“I don’t really care what you say. You’re not going anywhere.”

Marron admired her mother more than anyone else in the world. The woman was hard as nails most of the time, but also one of the most caring and compassionate people she’d ever known. Right now, that compassion was a little harder to see, buried beneath a hard glare and crossed arms. Chi-Chi had been a wreck since Goten had gone with the Saiyans, not that Marron could blame her. Watching Bulla leave without a second glance had been difficult if she was honest. She could only imagine how hard it was for Chi-Chi. She hadn’t even been given a chance to say goodbye.

“18, I’m serious! _Move._ ”

It’d been weeks since then, but you’d think it had just happened hours ago by the way Chi-Chi’s persistence hadn’t wavered. Marron stood on the corner of the sidewalk, holding the large bag of tools. Mai stopped beside her and the two exchanged a glance. This sight had become so common that it was practically routine. Every day, Chi-Chi would argue with 18 and Krillin. Before, it’d been about sending them to retrieve him; ever since a group of Saiyans had taken up camp outside the city, she was determined to do it herself. 18 planted herself firmly in front of an orange truck, the only working vehicle in the entire city. The argument they were having went the same way all the others went — practically nowhere. 18 wouldn’t move, Chi-Chi wouldn’t give up, and it ended with 18 reaching into the truck and ripping out the steering wheel.

“Well, there goes the truck,” Mai said with a sigh. “I was hoping we’d get a few more uses out of it before one of them destroyed it.”

“I’m sure it’s fixable. It’s not as if we’d have gotten far with it anyway with those Saiyans out there,” Marron said. “How are the walls?”

Mai adjusted her weight and the gun slung over her shoulder. “Better now. It would’ve been easier to fix if Goten was still here.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the streets behind them, then lowered her voice. “The Saiyans out there haven’t tried anything yet, but they’re keeping the Forces at bay.”

Marron nodded. “Until we know what they’re after, the least they can do is keep Chigo’s men busy.” She made her way down the street with Mai at her side. “What about our other friend?”

“Your dad knows more about that than I do,” Mai said. “Any word from Bulla?”

“Not since last week.” In fact, the lack of word from Bulla was worrying. When Bulla had first arrived on the Saiyan ship, she’d been sending Marron at least one message a day. For the last few days, however, those messages had been painfully absent, and the arrival of the Saiyans just outside the city left her wondering if something was wrong. “The last I heard, Goten was up and moving again. But that’s all.”

“Probably for the best you never told Chi-Chi about that,” Mai said. The two women made their stops to various points around the city, dropping off tools from the bag Marron had. “Has anyone heard anything about Trunks yet? I thought he was with Vegeta and Bulma, but I heard rumors he was back with the Forces.”

“I’m not sure,” Marron confessed. She hadn’t thought to ask Bulla, though she doubted she’d receive an answer if she tried now. “I don’t believe he’d go back, though. It took them years of constant training to get him as compliant as he was, and now he’s been away from it for too long.”

“I hope you’re right. Anyway, I should go check on the east side. Think you can manage the rest of this route?” Mai asked, then took her leave when Marron assured her. There were only a few tools left, and once they were dropped off Marron made her way back toward the housing quarter. There wasn’t much she could do, at least not in the way of fighting or building, but she’d been trying her best to find ways to help out. She met Elo a block away from her destination and smiled when she caught sight of the large box he carried.

“No trouble, then?” she asked as she got near. He shook his head and raised the box a little higher.

“None at all. Those Saiyans never made a move and Pia was glad to be rid of these,” he said. Marron motioned ahead and the two began walking. “No luck on the information you asked for, though. They’re too well trained for any leaks, it seems.”

“We expected as much,” she reminded him. “They’re less a people and more a collective army. We’ll find another avenue — if there are no dissenters, perhaps someone in Central City can find a way inside the ship.”

“Wouldn’t hold my breath on that one for too long, Marron,” Elo said. “They’re far more paranoid than Frieza ever was. Doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“It makes perfect sense,” she said as they came to a stop in front of a large blue door. “They’ve got more to lose.”

During the course of her time here, Marron took the time to find some small ways to give back to the people here. While her mother and father headed their defenses and Mai patrolled, and Elo working to strengthen their sources, Marron did what she felt she was able. One of those ways was the collection of houses filled with the sick and injured, the elderly, and a group of children that had been orphaned over the years. She’d taken it upon herself to get to know the people there and find ways to care for them. It wasn’t much, but she did what she could. After all, it didn’t hurt to gain as many allies as possible and alleviate whatever suspicions the people here might still hold against one of Frieza’s pets.

The collective “Miss Marron!” greeted her as she walked through the door, and she smiled at the little faces that called out her name. She and Elo got to work handing out the toys he’d retrieved from a nearby village, and she spent time sitting and speaking with the children afterward. They were incredibly resilient for how young they were, Marron quickly realized, in spite of the tragedies they’d suffered.

“My mama used to be a soldier until she met my papa. We were living in Mushroom City, but then the Forces came and my papa...” The little boy trailed off, his dark eyes falling to the ground. “After he was gone, we came here. Mama said it was safer. But when the Forces came here too, she left to fight.” He was Lona, and just recently had his tenth birthday. She watched him a moment before she reached out to take his hand.

“Your mother was very brave, and her bravery helped save the city,” she said gently. “She loved you very much. So did your father. They would want you to be brave too.”

Nearly every child there had an almost identical story to his. Parents who were soldiers, either part of the Forces turned resistance or part of the resistance from the start, all of whom had died during one battle or another. Marron spent hours with the kids, talking and playing and helping their caretakers with whatever they needed. Elo stood nearby in the doorway, a silent watcher who smiled when she looked his way. By the time they left, the sun had set and the city was bathed in darkness.

“You’re good at that,” Elo said. “Talking to people. Kids, especially.”

“I’ve had quite a lot of practice. Lord Frieza trusted me to speak to the people,” she said. It was an unfortunate truth; the few times Bulla had been tasked with public speaking, she’d often say or do something that displeased Frieza. Such was the girl’s nature, Marron would argue on her behalf. Such was the nature of stupid monkeys, he’d usually reply. “I enjoy it, too, and children make the best conversationalists. They’re typically far wiser than one might expect, and very few of them are afraid to speak their minds. It’s...refreshing.”

“I’m happy to leave the talking to you. It’s much easier for you to gain their trust than for me to. Most of them know what I used to do, and because of that Mai’s only just started trusting me enough for patrols,” he said. “At this rate, the war will be over before any of them tell me anything of use.”

Marron took his arm with her own. “I’m sure it won’t be that long. There’s no need to rush it, though. They’ll come around in time,” she said. “Just keep doing your best and they’ll see you for the man you are.”

“We’ll see,” he said. He slowed his pace and gestured to something ahead of them. “Looks like this is where I leave you.”

She followed his gaze and caught sight of her mother waiting at the end of the street. Elo pulled his arm from hers and stepped away, making for the other side of the road while Marron continued on.

“You were out pretty late,” her mother commented as she drew nearer. “Visiting those kids again?”

Marron smiled warmly. “Yes, I was. They’re often the most vulnerable and easily overlooked, especially in cities. I wanted to make sure they know they haven’t been forgotten.”

“That’s sweet of you,” 18 said plainly, though she wore a small smile. “You hungry?”

“Starving, actually.” She fell in step with her mother, walking alongside her until they reached the collection of capsule houses closer to the center of the city. Her eyes scanned the outside wall around them, but it was difficult to tell one shadowed figure from another as they paced the steps. She wondered if Mai was one of them, but the thought disappeared when she was forced to an abrupt halt. 18’s arm hit her lightly across the chest to stop her from going any further. She looked up in surprise to find her mother eyeing her with a strange expression on her face.

“Marron, before we go inside, I need you to promise you won’t say a word to anyone about what you see. Not even Bulla.” Her tone was so serious that it sent a chill down Marron’s spine. After a pause she nodded slowly, her mind racing with possibilities of what lay beyond the door. Her mother considered her a moment she moved to unlock the door and step inside, and Marron followed her closely.

The front room was dark, with curtains were drawn tightly shut and a heavy drape hanging on an archway. Her father appeared from around the drape, holding it aside just enough so he could see who entered, and his face erupted into a bright smile when he saw them.

“Hey, there are my girls,” he said. “I was starting to get a little worried.”

“You know that’s not necessary, dear,” 18 said, though there was a hint of fondness to her voice. “Everything go according to plan?”

He nodded and stepped aside to allow both 18 and Marron to pass. She ducked gingerly as she walked by the drapes, and did her best to mask her uncertainty. While she trusted her parents implicitly, her mother’s cryptic words had her on edge. As soon as she entered the dining room she realized why it’d been so serious. 

Gohan looked up to catch her stare and stood when she came to a stop. Silence settled in the room for a time until Krillin moved around her to stand relatively between them. “Marron, Gohan’s here to help us figure out what to do about the Saiyans, and West City.”

She nodded stiffly, her eyes never leaving Gohan’s face. Truthfully, his presence used to be a source of comfort for her. Now that she knew it was him under that mask all along, that _he_ was the faceless man, it sent a chill through her spine. She remembered the scholarly man from her youth, sure, but that was so long ago and in that time he’d been made into something...else. Something terrible. _It was just the mask,_ she told herself. _It was always Frieza, not Gohan._ Yet even as she told herself those things, there was no shaking off the fear that crept into every part of her body. He watched her as she watched him, unreadable and unwavering in his gaze.  _Just like a mask._

So, she smiled. “It’s good to see you, Gohan,” she said. “I’m sure your mother will be glad to see you as well. I’ve heard you’ve been hard at work out there.”

He seemed to relax his shoulders slightly when she finally spoke. “Thank you, Marron. It’s good to see you too, and she was indeed pretty happy,” he said. His voice was strained, like speaking was a struggle.

Her own fear didn’t matter right now. What mattered was getting the job done, and that meant ignoring her feelings for the time being. She continued to smile politely, then moved to sit down when her mother and father moved further into the dining room. Gohan settled back into his seat but opted to turn his attention to Krillin, to her immense relief.

“Marron, we were hoping you could help us out with a few things,” Krillin said. “You were with Frieza a lot, and...Char was pretty high up in the ranks, wasn’t he?” She nodded, and he offered an apologetic smile. “Think you have any insight into what this new commander guy is gonna do?”

18 moved into her field of vision, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. Marron paused a moment, a frown touching the corners of her lips as she considered her father’s questions. The mention of Char had her feeling strangely empty now, though she did her best not to focus on that. Instead, she searched her mind for answers, trying to organize the things she knew for certain.

“I’m sure you understand that Frieza never shared his plans with me directly,” she began carefully. “He rarely kept either of us around for the more elaborate plans, unless he wanted an audience to witness his power. Whatever I heard...it could have just been threats, nothing more.”

“Anything will help,” her mother said. “Even if you don’t think it matters, it might.”

She nodded, but her eyes fell to her lap where she folded her hands together. “Lord Frieza enjoyed destroying planets, regardless of whether or not their people bowed to him. He often said he was saving earth’s destruction for someone special.”

“Goku,” Krillin said, glancing toward Gohan. 

“Probably. I believe he meant it for Vegeta as well,” she said. “But he had contingency plans, if things didn’t go accordingly. Almone was supposed to carry out those contingencies, though by losing both Bulla and I, she obviously failed in the first part of that.” Marron paused, glancing in Gohan’s direction. He kept his gaze away from hers, not that she blamed him. She had a choice to make quickly, and she made it by the time she spoke again. “He assigned...his men to fulfill certain roles. For Chigo, he was meant to carry out the eradication of any and all resistance forces throughout the planet. That included anyone even suspected of sympathies or ties to the resistance, regardless of their status within the empire.”

“Doesn’t seem like he accounted for the Saiyans to rebel,” 18 commented. 

“He did,” Gohan said, suddenly. “He knew it’d happen eventually. That’s why he picked these particular Saiyans. Their king is older and weaker than the other versions. And as far as I know, he’s dying.”

“Dying? How, from old age?” Krillin asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gohan said. It was the first time he returned Marron’s gaze, but just for an instant before he looked away again. “When he dies, they’ll be without a leader. That’s when the loyalists Frieza has among them will strike.”

“But, Vegeta and Bulma...and Goten and Bulla. They’re on that ship! We have to tell them before it’s too late,” Krillin said. 

“I told Vegeta last week.” Gohan stood again and moved toward the window, pushing aside the blinds slightly so that he could look outside. There was something else he wasn’t saying, she was sure of it. Marron watched him from the corner of her eye. “The Saiyans the king sent are here for me. We can use that to our advantage to keep Chigo’s men at bay for now.”

“For now?” 18 questioned. 

“Yeah. I guess we’ll find out how long they’re willing to wait for me,” he said.

Krillin got up from his seat and looked back at 18 with a nod. “We should go make sure everything’s in place, just in case something happens. Marron, you want me to walk you home?” 

Marron shook her head. “No, thank you. I can find my own way.” Both 18 and Krillin said their goodbyes and left shortly after that, and Marron watched after them until they disappeared into the night. It wasn’t until then that she looked back to see Gohan still standing by the window, although by now he’d turned to face her. His arms were crossed and he wore a small frown on his lips.

“You didn’t tell them,” he said, sounding somewhere between confused and relieved.

“No,” she replied calmly. “I didn’t.”

“I...appreciate it.”

Marron smiled, though it was a hollow one at best. “Forgive me, but I didn’t do it for you. My father loves you. It would kill him to know what I know.” She stood a little straighter, stepped a little closer. Speaking to him so directly was difficult, though she remained strong. It got easier the more she said. “But I will tell him if I have to.”

His eyes searched her face in silence, and then the realization crept in. He took in a breath and nodded stiffly. “I see. What is it?”

“I haven’t heard from Bulla in over a week. You were there a week ago,” she said. “There’s something you don’t want anyone else to know.”

Gohan considered her only briefly before he answered. “Goten and Trunks are gone. Trunks got pulled into a rift, and Goten walked right into one.” She turned her head slightly, though her eyes didn’t leave his face. He didn’t have to ask whether or not she was waiting for more information, yet he remained quiet.

“Why would Goten do that?” she asked.

“Marron...” he started.

“Answer me,” she said, firmly. It was even easier now. “Please.”

He shook his head and looked down at the ground. For a moment, Marron thought he might not answer her at all, so she turned for the door with every intention of going through with what she’d promised. It wouldn’t bring her any joy to do it, but she knew better than to threaten someone like him and _not_ follow through. Her heart began to beat a little faster, but she wouldn’t let herself falter.

“Wait.” She paused just before the door and turned back to face him with an expectant gaze. “Goten was pulled from a rift a couple of weeks ago. Vegeta says when he came out, he started saying things that didn’t make any sense. He said he saw our dad, and that our dad told him that Frieza was coming back. And the only way to stop him is if Goten went into the rift and saved him. Bulma’s been building a machine that can create rifts, so...he went in.”

Marron looked away. Bulla’s lack of communication made sense now, given how attached she’d grown to Goten. She thought for only a split second to ask him if he knew how Bulla was doing, but she doubted he would even have reason to know. Frieza coming back, however...it should have scared her more than it is, yet truth be told she’d expected this eventuality. Thinking Frieza would ever be gone for good was a fool’s dream.

“I see. Well, then, I suppose it wouldn’t make sense to cause a panic now, especially if it turns out he was just spouting nonsense,” she said. “Thank you.” She turned for the door and opened it, but just as she began to step outside, he spoke again.

“Marron.” She glanced back at him and saw that he wore a rueful smile. The first crack in his mask. “Frieza taught you well.”

She studied his face silently. The insult stung but not as much as she would’ve liked, and when she broke from his gaze and stepped outside into the night, she knew he was right. She and Bulla both _had_ learned from Frieza, whether they liked it or not. She’d kept a close watch on how he handled his men, with brute force and manipulations and threats. What she herself lacked in brute force she could make up for in the other areas. 

Perhaps she should have felt guilt over what she did, she thought as she made her way back to the capsule house she shared with her parents. After all, Gohan was not the faceless man anymore. But neither was he the friendly scholar she remembered as a child. And if he was neither the friendly scholar or the faceless man, then what did it make him to her? A boogeyman she was no longer afraid of? Or the son of her father’s best friend, someone she should welcome back with open arms as everyone else had?

No. No, she couldn’t do that. Not after everything he’d done, on Frieza’s orders or not. But he didn’t mean much of anything to her now, so Marron felt nothing for him or for her actions. And as she greeted her father with a warm embrace, she couldn’t help but idly wonder if Frieza had taught her that too.


	53. Be A Different Kind

“One more time.”

“I think we’ve tested it enough.”

“Just do it already, will you?”

The machine whirred to life. An ominous black-purple glow flooded the room, and Bulma planted her feet more firmly in the ground to resist the invisible pull. She held her wrist up, finger sitting readily on the small button on her rift manipulator while she waited for a sign. For several minutes she stood there, eyes locked onto the tiny screen on her wrist. Nothing happened.

“It still isn’t working,” Rottece said.

“One more minute,” she said. “He took the other half. If it can get a lock on him then it can bring him back.”

“It wasn’t properly calibrated,” he argued. “Doing this several times a day won’t change that fact. I must insist we move on.”

“Insist all you want, but if you touch that lever I promise you’ll regret it,” she snapped. While she knew he was right, it was hard to admit defeat. Goten going through that portal had made life significantly more difficult for them all. There was a freshly boarded up hole in the wall nearby, courtesy of her daughter’s anger. Vegeta had been the only reason she hadn’t destroyed the lab in its entirety, and she’d refused to see anyone since. Two weeks had gone by, and Bulma was quickly running out of ideas.

“Did something go wrong with our sequencing?” she asked.

“No, I already double-checked. This is it.”

“Check again.”

She couldn’t see him, but she could practically hear the Saiyan scientist bristle. “Fine.” He ran the numbers again but still, nothing changed. Nothing happened. 

Finally, it became clear that she couldn’t delay the obvious any longer. She dropped her arms down and put her hands on her hips with a heavy sigh. Rottece shut down the portal and the portal faded back into nothingness. She pushed the short strands of her hair behind her ears, mentally going through a checklist.

“We’ll go back to the drawing board then. There’s gotta be something we missed,” she said. Rottece removed his glasses and set them on the table before him, his lips pursed while she continued to talk. “We did enough work on them that they should at least react if they’re within proximity of each other. The trouble is finding that proximity. We’ll run a new set of sequences and see if we can generate the same conditions he left...maybe that’s what we’re missing.”

“Until we know _where_ he’s gone, the likelihood of actually getting to that point is minimal at best,” Rottece said. “We’re just wasting our time with speculation.”

“It’s not speculation. It’s a theory.”

“We’ve gone through this before, Bulma, and you say that every time. We can’t keep using this so haphazardly when we _both know_ that it won’t do anything. The energy that this thing puts out is enough to decimate half a city by itself, and we’ve got it on a ship with the entire race of my people!”

Bulma’s cheeks warmed with anger as she turned her glare onto him. “Don’t you think I know all of that?! My family’s here too, you know, it’s not like I’m flipping the switch on and off all willy-nilly! It was the king’s idea to have this close, so _he_ must trust me. I know exactly what I’m doing, you got that?!”

Rottece looked very much like he was about to argue, but thought better of it. “My apologies,” he said through clenched teeth. “I should know better than to argue with a _genius_ of your stature.”

She rolled her eyes. The ass-kissing had been nice at first, but she’d figured out it was just a way for Saiyans to get away with being snarky to her face. “Cut the crap, Rottece. If you’ve got something to say, then you might as well just say it. Science isn’t science without discourse.”

Apparently emboldened by her words, he straightened his back and jutted out his chin. His black eyes flashed with interest, though there was still hesitation there. “I may speak freely then?”

“Yes, you may speak freely.” His hesitation was well-deserved. Bulma had earned her own reputation, finally able to stop swinging her husband’s name around. Her own fierce temper was something to be reckoned with.

“Your abilities are impressive for a human, but your emotions cloud your judgment. Your relationships with those men make you too careful, which limits your abilities to perform from a purely scientific standpoint. We have wasted valuable time and energy on something that clearly is not working. If we are _really_ to be stuck on the theoretical, then we should do so productively rather than focusing on a pointless experiment we already know and have thoroughly recorded the outcome of!”

Much as it stung her ego to hear, and as heated as she felt herself getting, Bulma knew he wasn’t wrong to say what he said. His voice had been so calm and steady, but each word cut through her all the same. She _had_ been hyperfocused on the one solution, the same one she’d thought of the moment after she realized Goten was gone. And a part of her selfishly thought that if she succeeded in finding him then she could find and bring Trunks and Goku back the same way too — or at least have a better understanding of how to get them back.

But was that so wrong? Trunks was her son, Goku her oldest friend, and Goten...he might as well have been another son to her even before he got involved with Bulla. Since he was the father of her grandchild, he definitely was now.

She took in a deep breath and clenched her jaw shut, quietly stamping out her irritation. Her cheeks were warm and her mouth had twisted into an irritated frown. Rottece watched her warily as if he expected her to go back on her offer to speak directly to her. Tempting as it was, she reluctantly swallowed her pride. “What do you suggest, then?”

His shoulders relaxed considerably and he moved to bring a tablet to her. He held up the screen and she looked down at it — charts showing all the data they’d collected so far on their prototype, then he swiped his finger across the screen to reveal a map of the continent. Several dots appeared at once, blinking periodically with one another. There was one on Central City and three others that were far too close for comfort.

“I have fine-tuned our sensors to locate and record energy signatures consistent with our prototype rift generator. According to the research I’ve collected, these are the locations of rifts either about to form or most likely to form. Each one has its own unique signature, assuming nothing interferes and messes with their geometric intuitions.”

“So we have a map of rifts in the world,” she repeated. “That’ll be useful for when we need to close them up, but I’m not sure what that has to do with our research here.”

“We need more _data_. If we gather enough information, we might be able to learn more about _how_ they form and in turn learn how to replicate them more accurately. Our current method is too crude and far too dangerous. This way should allow us to replicate the energy signatures of the rifts more accurately so we can—”

“—pinpoint where Goten, Trunks, and Goku are!”

“ _Precisely._ ”

“Oh, that’s good. You know, you’re not half bad for a _Saiyan_ scientist,” Bulma teased. “The only problem I can see from that is without the other manipulator, we’re in the same spot we are now. We still need one to stay here while also linking it to the one Goten has.”

“Another problem for another time,” Rottece said dismissively. “For the time being, I will be joining the field research team and sending my data back directly to you for further study.”

Bulma nodded. “At least it’s something. Also...thanks, Rottece.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and nodded curtly.

“I will report to you once I’ve arrived at the first location,” he said and gave one last bow as he left the room. She’d been reluctant to accept help from him at first; he’d started off charming and overly polite, but when she made it clear that she had no time for whatever angles he was trying to play, he relaxed around her. She got to know him as he truly was — a prickly, maddeningly smart man with a penchant for technology that made her think of her father at times. If her father was insufferable and needed to prove he was the smartest man in the room at all times, that is. Rottece definitely wasn’t a fighter, that was for sure, so she couldn’t blame him for being so quick to use his brain every chance he got. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been doing that same thing for... a certain number of years she did not feel like thinking too hard about.

As she settled down into her chair, Bulma dug out a pack of cigarettes from her shirt pocket. It was quiet now, something she didn’t often get to enjoy these days, and she found it easy to slip into silence. But that meant she had more time to reflect. Life certainly had its challenges lately, all things considered. Not for the first time had she caught herself thinking about how much things had changed. One day they were making silly wishes on dragon balls and now she was just trying to keep everything together long enough to see the next day. Her eyes wandered over to the crudely repaired hole in the wall and frowned slightly.

Bulla had taken Goten’s departure very poorly, to absolutely no one’s surprise. It was a wonder she hadn’t leveled the entire ship like she had the training arena. Ever since then, she’d sequestered herself in her room and refused to speak to anyone. At first, Bulma had been content to give her space. She was pregnant and hurt and if she was anything like either of her parents, she would need a little time alone. Two weeks was a long time to be alone, though, and whenever Bulma had these moments of downtime she found herself getting antsy. Because again, if she was anything like either of her parents, then Bulla would need someone there for her whether she acknowledged that or not.

Speaking of emotionally stunted hotheads, Bulma hadn’t seen Vegeta in the last few days either. After he’d told her about Gohan’s warning, he’d been more on edge than ever and both of them had to shift their perspective of the situation quickly. The threat of assassins lurking among them was bizarre; this was the kind of thing you read in books or watched on TV. It might have been a far cry from gods and universe-saving tournaments, yet at the same time, not knowing where the threat was coming from or even when it was going to strike added another layer of anxiety. It didn’t surprise her that Vegeta had gone back to speak to Gohan at length about everything going on.

 _I should have told him to check on Chi-Chi too,_ she thought idly. A rush of guilt hurried its way into her stomach even as she did her best to push it away. Chi-Chi didn’t deserve to be left out like this. She didn’t deserve to think her son up and left her without even so much as a goodbye because he _wanted_ to. They should never have done what they did. They should have just let Goten stay in South City with Chi-Chi, or at least given him the option, but finding out Bulla was pregnant and the Saiyans knowing where he was anyway...it seemed like the best idea at the time, all things considered.

Either way, there wasn’t much they could do now — Gohan had made it pretty clear he wasn’t going anywhere near the Saiyan ship, and she doubted Chi-Chi would enjoy being here any more than anyone else would. While that baby was just as much Chi-Chi’s grandchild as her own, from what Bulma had gathered, she probably wasn’t quite ready to accept Bulla just yet.

So lost in her own thoughts, Bulma barely noticed that she’d burned through the cigarette in her hand. She tossed it in a nearby bin and stood up from her chair to stretch. All this thinking about everything just made her uneasy again, and her mind went right back to her daughter. After only a brief moment of consideration — during which she weighed the likelihood of getting thrown out the window — Bulma made up her mind. At the very least, she had to make sure that Bulla was taking care of herself. 

Restlessness had overwhelmed her. She headed for Bulla’s room quicker than she normally might have. Just as she reached the door, however, a guard stepped in front of her. “The princess isn’t seeing anyone,” he said brusquely. Bulma withered him with a glare.

“ _The princess_ is my daughter. Let me ask her for myself,” she said. He seemed to think twice about defying her and stepped aside, though there was an air of annoyance about him. She didn’t really care. She knocked on the door lightly, then leaned closer to it so she could listen for a response.

“Bulla? It’s mom,” she said. Silence greeted her in return. She didn’t let it stop her. “I just wanted to check on you, sweetheart.” Silence again, but still Bulma didn’t move. “If you need someone to talk to—”

“Just come in already.” Despite being muffled, the response was no less snappy. Bulma didn’t hesitate to shoot an indignant glance back at the guard before she entered. Whatever she felt from her minor victory evaporated when the door shut behind her. The room was neat and clean like all their rooms always were, yet there was a distinct coldness about it. Bulla sat at the small table by the window, head resting against her hand with her elbow propped up on the surface. She barely glanced Bulma’s way. “What do you want?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t bug you too much,” Bulma said, silently hoping that was true. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” her daughter replied plainly. A few seconds passed where she didn’t say anything else, and Bulma took it as her cue to move on.

“Well, babies have that effect,” she said. Avoiding any mention of Goten was most likely the safest course of action. “You wore me out pretty early on too. I’d never napped as much as I did with you.” Bulla nodded as if she wasn’t really paying much attention, but she motioned absently toward the chair across from her. Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Bulma was quick to cross the room and sit down. It was as she got closer that she noticed the small cup Bulla had caged between her hands. “Oh, is that tea?”

“Yeah. Ginger tea — or, it’s supposed to be,” Bulla said. “No one here knows how to make it, but I’ve never made tea before. It doesn’t really taste right.”

So much for trying to avoid Goten. Bulma would need to tread carefully to ensure she didn’t make matters worse. “Tea’s tricky if you’re not familiar with how to make it, especially ginger tea. Can I have a taste?”

Bulla reluctantly slid the cup toward her. As she raised the cup to her lips, Bulma caught a whiff of it and immediately knew the problem. Either Bulla didn’t realize there was supposed to be lemon in it or she simply forgot, but whatever the case it was basically just liquid ginger. It was spicy and somehow tasteless at the same time. She struggled not to show her distaste for her daughter’s sake and loudly cleared her throat when she slid it back toward Bulla.

“You know, it could probably use a little lemon,” she suggested through a small cough. “Maybe a little honey too. Sweetening it up a bit will probably help a lot.”

“Maybe.” They fell into silence again, with Bulla staring very pointedly down at the cup nestled once more between her hands. Bulma tried to think of something, anything, to talk about that wouldn’t eventually lead back to Goten. That was tricky because so much of what had been going on had to do with him in some way or another. On top of that, Bulla was especially hard to read right now; she didn’t seem angry or sad. If anything, she almost seemed bored.

Still, she wasn’t telling Bulma to leave yet. Silver linings and all that.

“You have a chance to see the new training arena I designed?” Bulma asked. “They built it down in the city for now while the ship gets repaired, but I’m pretty impressed they managed to do it all in just a few days.”

“No, I haven’t,” Bulla said. It seemed like an awkward silence was about to settle between them once again. Bulma was eager to fill it.

“You should go there with your dad when he gets back. I’m sure both of you could use the training, right?” Bulma said. Bulla gave a small sigh and a nod, her eyes raising from the cup to look out the window. She followed her daughter’s gaze and smiled to herself. If nothing else, at least the weather had been more forgiving lately. “The weather’s pretty nice too! Maybe if you’re feeling up to it, you and I can—”

A sudden, small laughed interrupted Bulma. She looked back at her daughter and found a hardened stare directed at her. “You didn’t come here to talk about the weather.”

Bulma had to shake her head. She knew it couldn’t last long, though she’d hoped for a few more minutes. “No, I guess I didn’t. I came here to check on you. Being pregnant with a Saiyan baby isn’t a walk in the park.”

“There’s nothing to check. I’m fine.” Bulla pushed her cup off to the side and leaned back in her seat. “I take it whatever you’re working on isn’t going well.”

“Actually, Rottece and I had a significant breakthrough. We think we have a good idea on how to get everyone back,” Bulma said. She didn’t miss the disinterested sigh her daughter released. “What do you want me to say, Bulla?”

“I’d rather you didn’t say anything at all. I didn’t ask you to come here and make small-talk.” Bulla’s voice was steady, not nearly as acidic as it usually was when she said such things. “You have better things to do with your time, and so do I.”

“Better things?” Bulma said, incredulous. “Bulla, you’re my _daughter_. There’s nothing better I could do than to make sure you’re okay. I know you’re upset, but—”

“I am _not_ upset.” Her tone suggested otherwise, but Bulma knew better than to push it. Instead, she took in a breath and folded her hands on the table in front of her.

“Look, I’ve been where you are.” Bulla snorted at that. “Your dad and I didn’t exactly have the best start to our relationship. We sort of did things… backward, I guess you’d say. When I got pregnant with Trunks, Vegeta decided he preferred training in space by himself than sticking around for a baby. If it hadn’t been for my parents, I would’ve been totally alone when I gave birth. Obviously, things have changed, but I won’t lie and say it was easy at first.” Bulla still refused to look in her direction, though Bulma noticed the way her shoulders tensed slightly. She wanted to reach out and take Bulla’s hands in her own but stopped herself just as she moved to do so. “All I’m trying to say is no matter what happens, sweetheart, you’ll have us at your side to help you.”

Bulla hardly seemed fazed by anything Bulma said, not that it surprised her too much. “Is that why you came here?”

“Pretty much. Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair now,” Bulma said. “If you want, I can see about trying my hand at making that tea for you. No promises that it’ll taste exactly the same, but I’ve seen Chi-Chi make it before.”

“No.” The sharpness of Bulla’s voice was such a stark difference from the calm, indifferent tone she’d had previously. She leaned forward and reached for her cup again, her fingers pausing just as they wrapped around it. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find something else.”

Bulma considered her a moment. “If you’re feeling nauseous, I’m sure we can find something to help.”

“It’s not that. I made this because...” Bulla’s voice trailed off into silence. Every bit of indifference faded into something more like melancholy, and Bulma felt her chest tighten at the sight. But just as quick as the expression had appeared, it was gone again, replaced by a hard glare and her mouth twisted into a frown. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need anything.”

“Okay.” Bulma understood what was happening almost immediately because Vegeta used to do the same damn thing. And to be fair, so did she, especially at the height of her resentment and anger at being left alone with a baby growing inside her. She knew she wouldn’t get very far trying to convince Bulla to talk right now, so she stood from her seat and pushed the chair in. “I better get back to work anyway. There’s still plenty that needs to get done.”

Bulla said nothing as she made her way to the door, but she cleared her throat just before Bulma hit the button. She looked back at her daughter, who still hadn’t moved from where she sat. “You really think you can bring him back?”

Bulma smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good. I want to kill him myself.”

Her smile didn’t waver. She had no doubt that that was exactly what Bulla felt like doing right now, and she didn’t doubt that that would change once she saw him again. Hell, she’d felt the same with Vegeta once upon a time. “Just make sure you give him fair warning. I hear that baby’s made you a lot stronger and it’d be a shame if…”

 _The baby._ A realization struck Bulma all at once, out of nowhere. If her hunch was correct, then that baby was also that girl from the future, the one who tried to save Trunks from the rift. The one who had the same device on her wrist that Bulma had now. She stopped in her tracks and stared down at it for a moment, her mind working through all the possibilities that had suddenly presented themselves to her. The one major thing holding them back was the fact that Goten had taken the other half of her device with him. Without it, there was no way to ensure they’d make it back. But now, if she could find a way, then all she had to do was get her hands on the girl’s rift manipulator and they’d be set.

“Mom?”

She blinked. Bulla was staring at her, annoyed more than concerned. “Oh, sorry, hon! I, uh...it’s been a long day in the lab. I should probably get to bed, and let you get to bed.”

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Bulla said flatly.

“Napping! Napping is great for the baby, you should go do that.” Bulma fumbled for the button to the door, struggling for way too long to find it before it finally opened. “Goodnight, sweetie!” The look Bulla had on her face sat somewhere between confusion and irritation, though Bulma was too distracted to pay much mind to it.

Just like that, she was gone. She hurried down the hallway, her mind racing. If she was lucky, Rottece hadn’t left yet, and if he hadn’t left yet then she could tell him her idea. Turns out, she was extraordinarily lucky — she walked into her lab just as Rottece was leaving. He jumped in surprise at her wide, probably manic smile.

“I got it!” she said. “I know how to bring them back!”

“And? How then?” Rottece seemed mildly irritated. They’d had a plan, after all, and here she was throwing — nay, _hurtling_ — a wrench into those plans. 

“There’s another way to get my hands on a second device and, look, it’s going to sound insane, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else,” Bulma said. He didn’t look entirely convinced, so she jammed a finger in his face. “Do you want to hear my brilliant idea or not?” Rottece gave a reluctant nod and she crossed her arms across her chest.

“Fine. I’m listening,” he said.

“I’m going to get a second device from my future granddaughter,” she said. “Once we have it, then we’ll have our anchor!” Rottece regarded her with an expression he might have granted someone insane. She ignored it, choosing instead to continue rather than waste time having to explain everything. “I think I have a pretty good idea on how to contact her, but we’ll still need to be ready for when she comes. This might be our only way to get everyone back safely.”

Rottece removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep breath. “I take it telling you time travel is impossible would be a waste of time.”

“Only if you don’t mind me pointing out interdimensional travel isn’t supposed to be possible either,” she said. “Look, I know how it sounds. But trust me on this, alright? I’m going to get that message to her, and you work on the navigation.”

As reluctant as he was, Rottece at least agreed. He finished packing up and left within the hour, while Bulma sat at the desk and stared at the device. She’d based it on her old watch, but hadn’t thought to add the ability to make a phone call to it. At the time it seemed like a bit much, and now she was kicking herself for it.

Fortunately, she’d had enough sense to include a way to take notes with the idea that she’d need to if she was going to study the rifts effectively. It wouldn’t be too difficult to add a note and future-date it, though the trickiest part would be deciding what that date should be. If she had to guess, the girl — Charlotte, if she remembered right — was probably around fifteen or sixteen. Assuming she was right, all there was left to do was wait for Rottece to give her the okay and have a conversation with Vegeta.

A week went by before she saw her husband, and another week after that before Rottece sent her news of his findings. Just as she’d thought, there would be no way to find any exact locations, but at the very least they could hazard a decent guess. With any luck, they might even zero in on at least Goten’s approximate location, given that he was the most recent victim of the rift’s pull. She didn’t hesitate to put in her message for her granddaughter after that, and since Rottece was set to return in a few hours, they’d be ready to go pretty much right away. All the pieces were in place, but there was just one small problem…

“What?! Are you crazy?” 

“Oh, come on Vegeta, I’ve done way worse and you know it.” Bulma knew she’d have to convince Vegeta of her plan, but she hadn’t considered just how difficult it’d be. He’d always trusted her to take care of herself, though she supposed recent events may have shifted his perspective on things. Still, it wasn’t like they had a choice. “I’m the only one who can find them and get them back home. Plus, Rottece will be monitoring me every step of the way. If things go back, he’ll bring me right back.”

Vegeta was hardly convinced. “Have you even tested this thing? What makes you think it’ll work?”

She scowled at that. “Are you saying you don’t think I know what I’m doing? When have my inventions ever gone wrong?!”

“It’s not your invention. There’s something _wrong_ with those rifts.”

“Trust me, we’ve done all our research. We know enough about them to make this work,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie — they _had_ researched them quite a lot. Whether or not it was enough...well, only time would tell. “Our son needs me, Vegeta. I have to go save him.”

“Let me go,” he said, stepping closer to her. “If Kakarot failed to stop Frieza, then he’s in there somewhere too.”

Bulma smiled fondly but shook her head regardless. “And if Gohan is right about those assassins, you’re gonna be needed here. Not to mention Bulla and the baby are gonna need you too.” She glanced down at her watch and nodded. “Speaking of which, we’d better go meet her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bulla?”

“Our granddaughter. Don’t tell me you haven’t been paying attention, Vegeta,” she teased. “Come on. Let’s go meet her.” It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about, but when he caught on, a small scowl crossed his face.

“The girl with the metal arm,” he said. “I guess I’m not surprised.”

He remained fairly quiet as they made their way out of the ship. It’d been years since the last time she saw Central City for herself, though it wasn’t a shock to see that it had been transformed much the same way West City had. Where West City was extravagant and luxurious and hid its underbelly very well, Central City didn’t have that same quality to it. Its people were hardened by Frieza’s rule, colder and less likely to interact with strangers. Bulma figured at least a few of them had to have lost children to the Forces recruiters, so she couldn’t really blame them for not being especially warm toward anyone. Stalls of vendors lined nearly every street, and they usually wound up shouting over one another trying to reel in customers while never really saying much at all.

Bulma and Vegeta weaved their way through the streets easily. Most people were aware that they were in the presence of a Saiyan, and after spending months with the Saiyan ship looming over them, they seemed to have accepted their new leaders. To his credit, the king had gone out of his way to ensure the people remained fed and protected from any of Chigo’s attempts at attacking them, few as they may have been at the moment.

“I told her to meet us at an old store I used to shop at,” she explained as they walked. The more they walked, the more the crowds began to thin out. “Hopefully she actually got the message.”

“You mean you’re not sure?” Vegeta asked, almost surprised. 

“Well, time-travel’s not an exact science as it is and I had to do some guesswork on my end,” she said defensively. He let out an annoyed scoff and she shot him a glare from the corner of her eye. “If you’d rather go back to the ship and sulk about it, be my guest.”

He didn’t bother arguing with her, nor did he make any more noises. Once they reached their destination, Bulma was mildly disappointed to find the shop had long since closed. And unfortunately, there was no sign of Charlotte either. Vegeta leaned against the side of the building and crossed his arms, and the grimace on his face suggested he was holding back whatever remark he probably had on the tip of his tongue.

“You know, this means we’re related to Goku,” she said idly. Bulma had found an empty chair from a nearby cafe table set and dragged it over so she could sit. Vegeta’s scowl only deepened, and he grit his teeth. “We should probably find time to talk to Chi-Chi and Gohan before I go. Maybe offer to bring them here, so they’re close by.”

“Hmph,” was all Vegeta had to offer in reply.

Bulma crossed her own arms. “What? You think it’s a bad idea or you just don’t like being related to Goku?”

“No, I just think it’s a waste of time. Gohan already made his decision. Chi-Chi will do the same.”

“But the baby—”

“Is with Bulla on the ship.”

She frowned. She knew he wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make the fact any less difficult to accept. With as much as Gohan had gone through, it made sense to her that he wouldn’t want to be near the Saiyan king. “I still want to talk to Chi-Chi, give her the option at least. That’s going to be her granddaughter too, you know? It’s only right.”

Vegeta’s mouth thinned into a straight line and he shifted his weight impatiently. “Where is she anyway? We’ve been waiting around too long.”

“She’ll be here. Just be patient.”

All the good that did her. If he could have twisted his face into a deeper scowl, it might just turn itself upside down. “This is taking too long. If she isn’t here in—”

“I’m here! I’m here!” Bulma looked up in time to see Charlotte flying down toward them. She landed gently, with a red scarf tied neatly around her neck and covering the lower half of her face while the goggles she wore covered most of the top. “Sorry it took so long. I was...aw, man.”

“What?” Bulma stood from her seat and watched Charlotte curiously. The girl adjusted her goggles up to her forehead, pushing back her wild black hair before she reached up to yank down the scarf. She pouted a moment before she let out a woeful sigh.

“I was just hoping the dumpling shop had opened by now,” she said, as though a great tragedy had befallen her. “I’m really, _really_ hungry. I guess Mr. So hasn’t found this place yet.”

Bulma glanced at Vegeta in time to catch the half-infuriated, half-dumbfounded look on his face. It was almost too easy to point out that Charlotte was definitely more Son than she was Briefs if that really was her first thought upon seeing them, but she thought better of it. Still, she allowed herself a small giggle.

“We can get you food from the ship. But I’m sure you know I didn’t call you here for lunch,” Bulma said. Charlotte jerked her attention away from the building to look at Bulma, then shook her head quickly.

“No, I...I got your message,” she said. “So, I guess you figured out that I’m...well...”

“Our granddaughter?” Charlotte nodded shyly and Bulma smiled wide. “We’ve had plenty of experience with time travel, so it wasn’t too hard to guess. I’m just disappointed it took us this long to figure it out. Now that I get a good look at you, you sure do look an awful lot like your dad!”

It was true. Whatever resemblance she thought the girl shared with Gine, Bulma now noticed all the clues she should’ve picked up sooner. Almost everything about her face was very Goten; she had his chin, his nose, the same brightness when she smiled. While there was definitely some Bulla in her too — mainly in her eyes and the actual shape of her face — there was absolutely no denying that the girl was a Son through and through. Some small part of that was probably why Bulma could practically feel the irritation radiating off of Vegeta.

“We’ve wasted enough time waiting around for you,” he said coldly. She shot him a look, but he ignored her. “Bulma needs that thing on your wrist so we can save your idiot father.”

“Save him?” Charlotte repeated slowly. “Save him from what?”

“From the rift he walked into, of course,” Vegeta said. 

“ _Vegeta,_ ” Bulma hissed. “A little tact wouldn’t kill you.” He glanced at her and shrugged, but when Bulma looked back at Charlotte, the girl suddenly laughed.

“Am I supposed to believe that? No way papa would ever, _ever_ go near a rift, let alone in one,” she said. “You can just tell me the real reason you wanted me here.”

Bulma blinked. Charlotte’s confidence in what she’d just said was certainly endearing but as sweet as it was, Bulma had to shake her head. “Well, I hate to break it to you but that’s exactly what happened. I asked you here because I need that to go get him and the others.” She gestured toward the device on Charlotte’s wrist. “I wouldn’t have risked it if it wasn’t serious.”

Charlotte didn’t seem convinced. She shook her head and crossed her arms. “There’s gotta be a mistake. Mom would kill him if he even _thought_ about going near one.”

“Trust me, she wants to,” Bulma said with a sigh. The seriousness of her comment seemed to take Charlotte aback, and judging by the look she was giving Bulma, she looked unsure. “Because he really did go, and I’m really trying to get him back.”

“But...no, there’s no way.”

“We’re wasting time here,” Vegeta said impatiently. “Be in denial all you want, just give us that thing and go back home.”

Charlotte shifted uneasily. She didn’t look at Vegeta directly, and when she caught Bulma’s gaze she was quick to look away from her too. Confusion was settling into her features slowly, her mouth turning down into a small frown. Bulma stepped forward to place herself between her husband and granddaughter, then reached down to take her hands.

“Look, I know how hard this must be to hear, but I really need you to trust me. If this wasn’t supposed to happen, then that means something got pretty messed up in this timeline,” she said. “I’m gonna need your help to make it right again.”

Reluctantly, Charlotte nodded and offered a weak smile. “O-Okay. But we have to be quick before anyone notices I’m gone.”

“Time Patroller things?”

“How did—”

“Trunks told me,” Bulma said, smiling fondly. “Come on. I’ll need you to come with us back to the ship so I can calibrate it properly to the generator.”

The trip back to the ship was a quiet affair. Vegeta barely looked at Charlotte and Charlotte barely spoke, though she was quick to move her bandana to her hair before they arrived. Bulma helped straighten it once they landed, careful to tuck away any stray strands.

“Make sure you hide your tail,” Bulma said. “Saiyans with blue eyes aren’t really common around here.”

Charlotte nodded and wrapped her tail loosely around her waist, then set about adjusting her shirt to cover it. “My best friend has red hair,” she said abruptly. “But she’s only half-Saiyan, I guess. There are a lot of half-Saiyans.” She paused and looked around the ship’s hallway, then shook her head. “Sorry, I got distracted. I’m...it’s weird being here. Now, I mean, in this time. Because—”

“Enough already,” Vegeta said, then quickly cleared his throat when Bulma shot him a look. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

“Right! You’re right,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “Sorry.” They headed to the lab without running into many people, and when they entered she found Rottece waiting with a rather expectant look on his face. His gaze immediately fell to Charlotte the second she walked in.

“I see,” he said. “Forgive me, Bulma, for doubting you. It seems you continue to prove me wrong.”

“That’ll teach you,” she said with a huff. She led Charlotte over to her workbench and was pleased when the girl immediately began to set the device up to the linking system without prompt.

“I already fixed the date,” she said as she plugged it in. “Oh, and I adjusted the navigation so it’s more accurate to this time’s earth.” Bulma smiled wide at that, pride swelling in her chest.

“Well, look at that! Are you a little scientist too?” Bulma asked. Charlotte’s cheeks reddened and she put a hand on the back of her head awkwardly.

“A-Actually, I really just know how to work the rift manipulator and my arm,” she admitted. “But mom makes sure I read every book you send, and papa quizzes me.”

Bulma had to resist the urge to ask more questions, just as she’d done with Trunks. Still, it made her happy to hear that at least it sounded like their family was together and that her granddaughter had a good head on her shoulders. Rottece joined them at the workbench and began the sequencing process, his eyes scanning the small screen in front of him. An array of statistics appeared on his screen as Bulma rounded the table to join him, her eyes scanning over the numbers as they flashed across. 

“Looks like everything checks out,” she said. “We should be ready to go. I’ll get my suit ready.”

Vegeta took that moment to remind everyone he was still there. He pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and crossed the room to her quickly. “I still don’t like this,” he said. “We should send someone else.”

“We’ve been through this, Vegeta. Who else do you trust to find our son?” Bulma replied. His frown deepened and he shook his head. “Come on, it’ll be alright! I’ll have constant contact with Rottece, and as soon as I find them we’ll come right back. Plus this’ll be a good opportunity to figure out how Frieza did all of this in the first place. If Goku didn’t already beat him, we may need to make sure we’re ready if he comes back too.”

“You’re going alone?” Charlotte asked, surprised. 

“We don’t have a lot of options right now. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to go on my own little adventure, and I won’t be alone once I find the boys,” Bulma said. 

“You...I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Charlotte said again, to which Vegeta motioned toward her. Bulma ignored him. “What about Gohan?”

“Things are a little tense with him right now,” Bulma said with a quick shake of her head. “And we need him to stay here in case Vegeta needs help with Chigo.”

“Right,” Charlotte said. “Then I should go with you.”

Bulma paused, then shook her head after a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea either. I know your parents wouldn’t like that very much.”

“They won’t even know! I’ve been a time patroller for months and they haven’t found out. Anyway, I have more experience with rifts than you do _and_ I can keep you safe.” Bulma glanced at Vegeta, who nodded and made for the door.

“Fine, then. Come with me while they get ready,” he said.

“Wait, why?” she asked, though she followed him anyway.

“Training.”

Charlotte picked up the pace and the two disappeared down the hallway. Bulma and Rottece continued going through the numbers, checking and double-checking their work as they went. Within only a few hours, they’d managed to narrow down a handful of specific coordinates. There would be no way to tell which one was the right one, or even if they were close at all, but it was all they had to go off of. By the time Vegeta returned with Charlotte, the two looked about as roughed up as she expected. Their granddaughter was beaming from ear to ear, and Vegeta seemed satisfied. Bulma had changed into her new outfit, an orange jumpsuit with extra pockets for the capsules she was carrying. 

“Everything’s pretty much ready to go,” Bulma said. She turned to Charlotte, who was busy wiping her face off with her bandana. “We’ll be heading out pretty soon. Are you sure about coming along?”

“Absolutely! Just promise not to tell my mom,” she joked.

Bulma laughed. “You know, you’d be lucky if Bulla didn’t figure it out on her own.”

“Figure what out?”

Everyone except Rottece jumped at the sound of Bulla’s voice. Bulma nearly dropped all of the capsules she was holding. “O-Oh! Nothing, sweetheart! We were just talking about something else!”

Bulla stood in the doorway for a moment before she entered, looking at them expectantly. “It didn’t sound like nothing,” she said. She caught sight of Charlotte just as the girl was trying to scoot off to the side. “Who’s she?”

“She’s just one of the helpers we have around here for the lab,” Bulma said quickly. “Are you feeling okay today? Your stomach any better?”

“It’s fine.” Bulla continued to stare at Charlotte, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. For her part, Charlotte seemed to be trying to hide her face discreetly, turning her head down so that her features were cast in shadow as if she thought Bulla might actually recognize her. “I know you, don’t I? I’m pretty sure we’ve met before.”

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to Vegeta even though he seemed very much in the same boat as Bulma. “I, uh...I’m not sure about...”

“We have,” Bulla said. For a second, Bulma thought that maybe Bulla really did recognize Charlotte somehow. Maybe she sensed that her ki was similar to her baby’s, or maybe she saw the similarities between her and Goten and pieced it together. “South City, right? You saved us from those exploding things.” She paused and looked Charlotte up and down. “I thought you were a Saiyan.”

Bulma let out a small sigh of relief, though Charlotte didn’t seem to share that feeling. “Oh...um, I am! I mean, I just, um...I...”

“She’s been doing work for your dad and me,” Bulma interjected, moving so she stood in front of Bulla. Charlotte nodded and offered a wide, awkward smile. “We’re about to fire up the generator, actually.”

Flimsy explanation or not, it worked well enough. Bulla seemed to have lost interest in Charlotte when Bulma mentioned the generator. “So you’re going in?”

“That’s the plan,” Bulma said. “It shouldn’t take too long to find the boys and bring them back.”

“You’re going alone?”

“Not at all. Charlotte’s going with me,” she said. “Your dad is gonna stay here to keep you safe.” Bulma could’ve sworn she noticed a slight change in the way Bulla held herself. It was probably more wishful thinking than anything, but she liked the idea that perhaps some part of her daughter was worried about her too.

“Bulma, it’s ready,” Rottece said. “Coordinates are set and sequencing is complete. Once we turn it on, it should place you close to wherever Goten wound up.”

“Good. Well, we’d better get going then.” She looked back at Bulla and smiled, then reached out to put her hands on her shoulders. “Remember to take care of yourself, alright? I know you’re going to want to fight, but just let your dad handle the heavy lifting around here while you focus on you and your baby. Save your energy for when I bring Goten back — that way you can kick his butt yourself.”

Bulla didn’t respond to the touch, but she didn’t push her away either. Instead, she let a small frown ghost her mouth and she glanced back at the machine. “You’re _sure_ you can bring him back?”

“Yep. Trunks and Goku too.”

“Your Highnesses, I would advise you not to be present when the machine turns on. There is no way to tell just how strong its pull will be this time around,” Rottece said. Bulla went first, exiting the room without so much as a second glance. Vegeta moved closer to Bulma and scowled lightly again.

“Don’t give me that look,” she said. “You’ve got plenty to do to keep you busy while I’m gone.”

He grunted, then looked back at Charlotte as she was pulling on her own blue jumpsuit over her clothes. “You! Make sure she makes it back here,” he said. “And don’t screw anything up.”

Charlotte nodded and zipped up her suit. “Don’t worry! You can count on me, gramps!”

Vegeta’s face drained of color in an instant and his jaw tightened so much Bulma was surprised he didn’t break every one of his teeth. She laughed at his flustering and took the opening to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. It only served to agitate him further and he reeled back from her with an indignant scoff.

“ _Stop doing that!_ ” he snapped. But Rottece cleared his throat loudly before she could answer, pulling her attention away from her little family.

“Take care of our girls, Vegeta,” she said warmly. He followed Rottece out but remained at his side as the two men watched from the doorway. Rottece used the device now on his wrist to initiate the machine and as it began humming to life, Charlotte joined Bulma at her side. They looked at one another, and Bulma reached down to take Charlotte’s hand, whose cool metal fingers wrapped around hers gently. “You ready to go save your dad, kiddo?”

Charlotte smiled wide, a smile that made Bulma think of her oldest friend and nodded quickly. “Yes! Let’s do it!”

The rift began to form inside its circular barrier, its black and purple energy seemed to drain all light from the room. The pull from it was almost overwhelming, but Bulma steadied herself with Charlotte’s help and the two began to walk toward it slowly. She had to keep herself from looking back, from even thinking about any of the second-thoughts the most primal part of her brain was throwing her way in the face of abject terror. This rift was unnatural, its very existence sending shockwaves of fear through her every nerve. Yet, even so, she continued on. Her son needed her. Goten needed her. And Goku, who had been there when they needed him most, needed her now too.

As they stepped past the machine’s familiar barrier, all of the heat from her body seemed to evaporate into nothing, and as they crossed the threshold of reality, an intense sensation erupted somewhere inside of her. It was like a vibration rattling every bone, every muscle, every inch of her flesh. For an instant it seemed like her fingers and toes had been pulled away from her body, then her arms and legs went with them, only to be replaced immediately thereafter. Whatever the feeling was, it left behind a dread buried so deep into her marrow that some part of her wondered if she’d ever feel anything else again.

 _Gravity waves,_ she told herself. _High-frequency gravity waves, that’s all this is._ Even as she assured herself that everything happening was easily explained in a purely scientific manner, she couldn’t shake the visceral fear that rooted itself inside of her. Neither could she ignore the sense that something ancient, something horrible, something evil had her now, like an invisible tongue had licked the surface of her mind and its fingers wrapped tightly around every limb. 

Then, all of a sudden, everything stopped. A streak of bright light shined through the endless void; a flash of invisible power pulsated through the darkness and she knows before she realized she knew that she had arrived. When she regained feeling in her fingers and toes, and her senses return to her, she realized she was still clutching Charlotte’s metal hand tightly. The girl is pale and shaking, a sheen of sweat on her face and her hair wet against her skin. Her own skin feels raw and sensitive like a thousand tiny pins had pricked into her flesh all at once. But they made it, they are alive, and they are somehow still whole. As they struggle to stand upright, rumbling echoes around them. Faint whispers fill the air, growing louder until they become words spoken in a deep, slow voice.

_You are brave to travel so far from your homes. Come. I would very much like to meet you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while. Working retail really drains the life force out of you, especially during the holidays.
> 
> As I'm sure you noticed, this was an especially long chapter. That's because this is the end of Part I of FORSAKEN. The story will continue after a short break, and I will update the end of this chapter with a link. For now, if you'd like to keep up with me you may find me on tumblr at: https://actualrogers.tumblr.com/
> 
> ALSO, as a belated holiday gift and as a supplement between this part and Part II, I would like to offer short one-shots to anyone who would like one. They can be Canon Compliant (FORSAKEN canon, obviously) or Non-Compliant. I will write about any character I have listed in the universe so far, including characters who may be dead. If you're curious about backstories or just random tidbits of history in general, I will do my best to write it out. Please feel free to submit the request via my tumblr or here as a comment. :)
> 
> I hope you have enjoyed Part I and will join me for Part II as well. Thank you so much for your patience and for reading this story!
> 
>  **UPDATE 1/31:** Part II may be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498603/chapters/53761471). Thank you for reading!


	54. PART II: Prologue

“That’s just a stupid rumor someone made up to scare us.”

Bet shook his head, strands of his unruly blond hair brushing against the bridge of his nose. He pushed them away. “It’s not a rumor! It’s true, Milleke said so!” 

Sala only rolled her eyes. He was a stupid little boy with stupid ideas, and she was growing tired of his enthusiasm for these ghost stories. But he was her cousin and it was her job to look after him now that they were all they had left. Still, she couldn’t abide by his naivety without a fight. “Ghosts aren’t _real_ , idiot. Even if they were, why would they care about us?”

“Because we’re innocent and soldiers are bad!” Bet stuck his chest out as if it would make him seem older than he was. “And it’s not a ghost, it’s a _spirit_. There’s a difference!”

At eleven, he was taller than other boys his age though no less childlike. Sala was five years older and didn’t look much like him at all despite the relation; she had fair skin and deep purple hair like her mother, while her father had the classic blond hair and warm skin the rest of their family did. Not that it mattered anymore since all of them had died at the start of the war between the Saiyans and Frieza’s Forces. 

Her eyes trailed back toward the scene they had been discussing. Several bodies lay in various positions, scattered through the ruined paddy fields just a few miles away from their village. Some were partially stuck in the ground, others were sitting in the center of small craters in crumpled heaps. All of them were soldiers, both Saiyan and Forces. She and Bet had come to investigate the sounds of battle and salvage what they could from the fields.

“They killed each other,” she said, stuffing her pack full of rice. The plants were still green, and still too wet to be of use right away. “That’s what happened. That’s why we heard so much fighting — ghosts don’t make that kind of noise.” She paused to stand straight and wipe the sweat from her forehead on the back of her sleeve. There was a little capsule hut nearby where the Denns used to live, but they’d been killed months ago when the Saiyans first showed up. 

Bet was undeterred. “Spirits can do all sorts of things,” he insisted. “It probably made that much noise so we’d know to stay away.”

“Why are you so determined to— _OW!_ ” Sala’s ankle twisted so suddenly that she barely had time to catch herself before crushing her pack. Bet hurried to her side, kicking through the water clumsily until he reached her.

“Are you okay?!” he said. She nodded and looked down. Her foot was stuck in a small hole and it took the two of them to wrench it free. Sala hissed in pain as she raised her foot out of the water, the corners of her eyes stinging with tears. “Let me help you up. You must’ve made the spirit really angry!”

“It’s just a hole, not a stupid ghost,” she snapped, but she accepted his help anyway. “Let’s...let’s go to the hut. I need to dry off before we wrap it.”

The two made their way to the hut slowly. Sala was careful not to put too much weight on her foot and Bet did his best to hold her upright as they walked. Once they entered, she settled into a nearby chair while Bet looked for something to dress her ankle. The hut looked much like she remembered it, if not as warm and inviting as it had been when the Denns were there to greet her. Mr. Denn often came to the village to do his trading and made frequent appearances at festivals and other gatherings. Mrs. Denn used to make the best rice pudding she’d ever tasted, and the memory of it made her sorry for their loss.

Bet returned with a towel he found and Sala set about patting herself down. Once she bound up her ankle, they could be on their way back to the village. They hadn’t been there long when they began to hear voices. At first, she assumed it was other villagers, probably Milleke or Alash come to check on them. But after a moment, Bet crept closer to the window and peeked outside, then turned back to her with wide, fearful eyes.

“ _Forces_ ,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the rest of the prologue in [Forsaken: Gods of War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498603/chapters/53761471). Hope to see you there!


End file.
